From This Moment On
by Sherlockian87
Summary: Sequel to "You. Always You." Summary: Molly and Sherlock are married, and Molly is pregnant. What will this new journey be like for the pair of them?
1. From This Moment On

**Here it is! Chapter One to my sequel for You. Always You. :) Hope you all enjoy this, I know I have greatly enjoyed writing it! Gotta love these two! ;)**

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Chapter One – From This Moment On

_For you've got the love I need so much_

_Got the skin I love to touch_

_Got the arms to hold me tight_

_Got the sweet lips to kiss me goodnight_

_\- From this Moment On, Kiss Me Kate_

* * *

_You're pregnant._

_ You're pregnant._

_ You're pregnant._

Sherlock's words repeatedly reverberated through Molly's mind as the day wore on. She managed to stay focused on her work, doing several autopsies and attacking a pile of paperwork, but still those words echoed. And she continually found herself smiling.

She was carrying Sherlock's child.

She was going to be a mother!

And the best part of it was that Sherlock was positively ecstatic. She had never seen him so excited, except for when he was on a case, (at least a 9 or a 10). He had proven to her, time and time again, that he was far more human than he let on, but to see him like this; overjoyed by the fact that they were going to have a child, was simply enthralling.

When her shift was at last over she quickly gathered up her things and exited the hospital. The cab ride home seemed to take abnormally long. All she wanted was to be back in the flat curled up with Sherlock, his warmth surrounding her, as they discussed the future of their little one.

At last arriving at Baker Street she quickly paid the fare and got out. The air was chilly as she stepped towards the door of 221, but it was not yet the bitter cold of winter. Letting herself in she quickly made her way up the stairs, opening the door to 221B, stepping in to utter chaos.

"Sh-Sherlock?" She called out warily.

Had someone broken in and destroyed their flat? He did get death threats every now and then, but to break in and ruin his living space? And wouldn't Mrs. Hudson have heard?

"Sherlock?" She called out again, this time louder. She was rooted to the spot, a bit too frightened to move.

Suddenly she heard a noise coming from the direction of the kitchen, a grunt to be exact, followed by incoherent mutterings. She moved towards the kitchen, and her eyes met with more disarray. And there smack in the center of it was Sherlock. What sort of madness had taken over him this time? Could he really have been this bored? What had happened to simply shooting at walls? His back was to her and he was still muttering.

"Sherlock." Her tone was firm this time, no longer frightened.

He spun around, "Molly! You're home already? What time is it?"

"What the hell have you been doing Sherlock?"

"Oh … this? Cleaning." His hands were on his hips, and he looked rather pleased with himself.

"Cleaning? You call this cleaning?"

He looked about him, "Well uhm … yes."

"Sherlock … this is most definitely the opposite of cleaning! You've made a huge mess!"

His eyes widened, "Oh. OH! You mean all this? Well, uhm yes … that is rather … bad, but what I meant by cleaning was all of my experiments. They're gone. I got rid of them."

She blinked at him.

"Your experiments? You just, threw them away? Why? You've been working on some of those for months!"

"Because of the baby! It wouldn't be healthy for you to be around them, exposing our unborn child to … Lord knows what!"

She felt tears pricking at her eyes.

"You got rid of them because of the baby?"

"Yes. Didn't I just say that?" He crinkled his nose slightly, "Oh! And I emptied out the fridge too, completely sanitized it, no more body parts! Just uhm food…"

She stepped further into the kitchen. Never had she wanted to kiss him more. Never had she wanted him more than at that very moment. She was reaching out for him, and would have succeeded if he hadn't suddenly jumped away.

"Don't touch me!"

She flinched slightly, her arms falling limply to her sides.

_ Not good._

"I didn't mean it like that! I just, I don't want you to touch me until I'm cleaned up. I don't know what I might have on me."

"Oh."

He let out a sigh as she visibly relaxed.

"Is the bathroom safe? Or did the tornado, better known as Sherlock Holmes, hit that too?"

He waved his hand dismissively, "The bathroom is perfectly safe."

"Good, because I am desperate for a soak in the tub!" She turned to walk out of the kitchen but stopped, looking back at him, "You're cleaning all of this up, you know, I am NOT helping! And put everything back where it's supposed to!"

Harsh words perhaps, especially because of his ulterior motive; but he had made an absolute mess! And she was rather terrified of the thought that he would simply leave it as it was. The man was not always tidy. Even John could vouch for that. She padded off to the bathroom, quickly removing all of her clothing as she turned on the hot water and filled the tub. Pouring some of her favourite bath salts in, she took a deep breath as the aroma filled the air. From time to time she could hear Sherlock shuffling about in the flat. She shook her head, certain that that man would never cease to amaze her.

As she stepped into the water and slid her body down into the warmth she let out a satisfied sigh. The noises outside the door slowly grew less and less. She had almost managed to drift off to sleep when she suddenly heard the sound of the bathroom door opening.

She popped open one eye, watching as Sherlock stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him to keep the warmth in. He had changed out of his signature button-up shirt and black trousers, into one of his t-shirts and pajama bottoms. She opened the other eye as he sat down on the floor beside her. Shifting slightly she sat up, resting her arms on the edge of the tub.

"Is it safe to touch you now?"

He raised his eyebrows slightly, "Yes. I cleaned myself off in the kitchen."

"Come here than, you git."

He moved closer and she grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, bringing him even closer so that she could kiss him. He sighed into her mouth, his hands slipping down her wet arms.

"Why not come and join me? The water is nice and warm."

She didn't need to ask him twice. He quickly pulled off his clothes before stepping into the water carefully so that it didn't slosh over the sides. She snuggled into him, nipping at his neck with her teeth.

"Sherlock…"

He turned and looked at her, their noses touching.

"What you did … that is one of the most unselfish things … you could ever do. Thank you."

He splayed his hand over her belly.

"It was worth it. For you. For the baby. For us."

She pulled him to her, kissing him deeply.

"I love you." She murmured between kisses, "I love you so much!"

He kissed her back, tugging her gently until she was lying on top of him. The water splashed over the sides. She giggled slightly, shivering when the cool air touched her wet skin.

"I love you too."

Hearing him speak those words still sent a thrill through her body. Simply because he hardly spoke them, made them all the more special when he did.

She shivered again and he frowned slightly.

"I think we should take this to our bed, you're getting cold."

She nodded and leaned back so that he could sit up and pull the plug to empty out the water. He helped her stand up before reaching out and grabbing a towel. He wrapped it around her and she giggled. He kissed the tip of her nose then grabbed a towel for himself. After drying themselves off her took her hand and gently pulled her towards the direction of their bedroom. She caught a glimpse of the rest of the flat.

"You cleaned up?"

"Yes."

"All by yourself? Without any help?"

"Yes."

"Mmm … fibbing Sherlock. I'm just as good as Mary, if not better, at knowing when you're lying."

He huffed slightly.

"Fine! Mrs. Hudson helped."

"Not your housekeeper, eh?"

"I did hear her muttering that, but when I explained the reason for the mess she seemed all too pleased to help me. I think she was more thrilled by the fact that she would no longer be finding any thumbs in the fridge."

Molly let out another giggle. He smiled down at her, reaching up to brush back a few strands of damp hair. She nudged him towards the bed, for they had stopped when she had asked him about the cleaning. He eased back onto the mattress, pulling her down with him, grabbing the duvet to cover them both. She hooked a leg over his hip.

"Am I to be rewarded Mrs. Holmes?"

"Most definitely Mr. Holmes! Most definitely."

* * *

The next morning Molly woke up alone in the bed. This was something she had grown used to. She had always known of his strange sleeping habits, but had been rather surprised by the fact that he often slept the entire night beside her. Except for when he was on a case. Very rarely though did she wake up in the morning and he still be in bed with her.

Sitting up, she rubbed her hand over her stomach, where the tiny little Holmes was forming. She smiled to herself as she slipped out of the bed, only to stop and shake her head. Sherlock's clothes were strewn about all over the floor.  
"Why does this man insist on making such a mess?"

She continued to mutter under her breath as she tidied up the room, stopping only to slip on his tartan dressing gown. He rarely wore it, he had so many others, but there was something about this one that she rather liked. Also, the softness of the fabric felt delicious against her naked skin.

Padding out of the bedroom she was surprised to not find him sitting in his chair, typing away at his laptop, like he usually always was. Instead he was in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets and amazingly not making a mess.

"Where is it?" He grumbled.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the door frame watching him. If someone had told her a year ago that she would be standing here now, in 221B Baker Street, married to Sherlock Holmes and carrying his child, she would have laughed in their face.

He stopped his rummaging and ran a hand through his curls, scratching his head. Her fingers tingled slightly; she loved the feeling of his hair and she even more so loved the sound he made when she moved her fingers through it.

"What are you doing?"

He spun around, his dressing gown twirling like a cape.

"Oh, you're awake."

She smiled at him and repeated her question.

"I was uhm … looking for that herbal tea that you like. I was going to make you some."

Her smile grew wider and she stepped further into the kitchen.

"Oh dear … have I domesticated The Great Sherlock Holmes?"

He sniffed, clearly pretending to look affronted.

"I have made tea for others before."

"You mean for James Moriarty … hardly good practice."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Fearing that she may have destroyed the moment, she sidled up along side him reaching passed his ear. Her movements caused the gown to open somewhat, revealing a decent amount of skin.

"The tea is right here."

She pulled it out of the cabinet, but he wasn't paying attention to that, his eyes were completely affixed on her chest. He swallowed, hard.

"Is that my dressing gown?"

His voice had dropped a few decibels lower. A sign, she had quickly learned, that showed he was aroused.

She smiled cheekily, turning so that she was facing him completely.

"It is. Do you mind?"

He shook his head, momentarily having lost his ability for speech. His eyes finally rose to meet hers, and she cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't mind. Although …" He reached up to gently ease the fabric off her shoulder so that he could place a kiss there, "I do find it rather distracting."

She smiled, "I could just take it off, and walk around naked."

He bit down into her skin, "That would be detrimental; much more distracting." His arm had snaked around her waist, pulling her close up against him. There was a red mark now on her shoulder. He started to kiss his way up to her neck.

"Perhaps I should start wearing your clothes?" He murmured into her skin.

She let out a rather unattractive snort, "I highly doubt that they would fit."

"Perhaps in a few months they might."

She pushed him away slightly, so that their eyes could meet. She was glaring at him.

"Are you implying that I am going to get fat?"

_ Oh no. Not good. This is most definitely one of those Not Good moments John warned me about. Hormonal woman can be rather dangerous. _

He swallowed again.

"No. NO! Yes, you will grow bigger, but that's the natural way. Your breasts will get larger, your hips fuller and of course your stomach will expand as the child grows …" He trailed off as he realized that she was smiling again.

"I love it when you rattle off like that."

_ Phew. She wasn't angry anymore. _

He returned her smile, pulling her in again and kissing her.

"This really can't become a common thing, Molly." He said to her as he untied the gown, letting it fall open before he slipped his hand inside, "We'll never leave the flat."

She chuckled into his mouth as he kissed her again.

"It's my day off." She whispered against his lips.

"Oh. Ohhhhhh!"

Within seconds the dressing gown hit the floor.


	2. Christmas with the Holmes'

Chapter Two - Christmas with the Holmes'

_Over the river and through the woods,_  
_To grandmother's house we go!_

* * *

"Why are we doing this? We never do this!"

"It's rather your own fault, Mycroft. If you had kept your mouth shut, instead of running off and telling Mummy about every little thing that I do in my life, we wouldn't be here."

"Will the two of you _please_ stop?" Molly was rubbing her temples. Listening to Mycroft and Sherlock argue was like listening to two over-grown five year olds.

Sherlock put his arm around her shoulders, his other hand coming to rest on her belly that had only just recently started to show.

"It's not my fault you hardly ever speak with her. She found out about the two of you through John's blog, imagine her disappointment … imagine what I had to listen to as she berated me for not letting her know myself. She knows all too well you wouldn't have." Mycroft sneered.

Sherlock's only response was to roll his eyes.

Molly looked up at him, "Why didn't you tell your parents?"

Sherlock swallowed; not exactly thrilled by the fact that Mycroft was to be witness to this conversation. Damn him for having insisted that they all take his government car to their childhood home.

Molly continued to look at him, waiting for a response.

"Because—"

Sherlock swallowed again, before speaking in a rush.

"Because I knew that my mother would hound me with a thousand questions and insist upon meeting you, and scold me for not having some big ridiculous wedding … and … and …" He trailed off.

Molly raised her eyebrows. Sherlock out of words? What was this?

"Are you ashamed of me?"

His eyes widened, "What?! No. NO! Do not ever think that! That is not it at all. It's just that, my parents, I, I've never had a very good relationship with them. They're so … ordinary."

Molly chuckled softly, "Is that it? You're embarrassed of your parents because they are ordinary?"

"Well I …" The realization struck him; perhaps that was it, "I never thought of it that way before, but yes, maybe I am embarrassed by them."

Molly leaned back into the soft cushion, her hands coming to rest over Sherlock's. Mycroft had stayed surprisingly silent. But he was eyeing her warily. A woman had never been brought home before.

"Will they like me?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows but still said nothing. What strange power was it that this petite woman had over the Holmes' brothers?

"I should think yes, and if not, what of it?"

Molly looked at Sherlock, "What do you mean what of it? Sherlock they are your mum and dad! I would very much like to have their approval. I am carrying their grandchild. It would be nice for our baby to have doting grandparents."

Mycroft broke his silence, "They will be very doting I can assure you."

"Excessively so." Sherlock muttered.

"Do not worry Molly, they will like you, because Sherlock …" Here Mycroft hesitated, not used to speaking such a sentimental word, "because Sherlock loves you."

Both of them stared at him in shock, neither one having ever expected that he could speak in such a way.

"Mummy quite gave up on either one of us ever giving her grandchildren. I can assure you, she will be quite … ecstatic."

"Oh, is Anthea infertile? Or does she not want to be inflicted with carrying your spawn?"

"Sherlock!"

Molly elbowed him sharply in the ribs, he had gotten better with spewing out insults, but sometimes he just couldn't help himself. Especially when it came to rattling his brother.

"Anthea is fertile, brother mine. We have simply decided that it would be the best for both of us not to … bring conflict into our relationship."

Molly blinked at him, "So you and Anthea are …?"

He looked at her, then back at Sherlock.

The rest of the ride was passed in silence.

When they at last pulled up in front of the Holmes' residence, Molly couldn't hold in her gasp. Knowing of the expensive tastes of the two Holmes' brothers she had expected their childhood home to be a rather grand estate, when in fact it was one of the most adorable and simple looking country houses that she had ever seen.

"Sherlock, this place is beautiful."

They got out of the car and he peered up at it.

"Mmmm … yes."

She laughed, shaking her head as she hooked her arm in his. He looked down at her then, studying her for a moment.

"You don't need to be nervous. They're just my parents. They're nothing like me, or Mycroft. They won't deduce you the moment they lay eyes on you; they might not even realize right away that you're pregnant."

"Ok. I'm actually rather excited to meet your _ordinary _parents."

He smiled slightly before leaning down to press a chaste kiss on her lips. For Sherlock Holmes to reign in his passion could only mean one thing, that he was in fact rather nervous himself.

"Come brother mine, save that for when you do not have an audience."

Suddenly the front door opened and out stepped the two _ordinary _parents.

"Mikey!" Their mother cried as she held her arms out towards Mycroft.

Molly quickly covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile, never once having expected to hear Mycroft with a nickname.

"Please don't tell me that your mother calls you Sherly." Molly muttered under her breath. All she got in response was a warning glare.

"Oh my dear William!" She kissed both of Sherlock's cheeks before giving him a good swat with her hand, "How dare you not tell me you are married!"

He bit back the retort that was burning in his throat, instead putting his arm protectively around Molly.

"And this must be Miss Hooper." His mother turned to her with a warm smile, instantly putting Molly at ease.

"_Doctor_." Sherlock corrected, "And she is no longer Hooper, she is a Holmes."

"Watch it William, you don't want your mother to become monstrous on Christmas!"

She gave Molly a kiss on each cheek, "Don't let him speak to _you_ like that dear, be sure to reign him in whenever he needs it, which I am sure is quite often!"

Molly bit back another smile, "Oh don't worry Mrs. Holmes, I know how to keep him under control." She gave him a sideways glance, certain that where this conversation was going was making him uncomfortable.

"Oh ho! You've chosen wisely Sherlock; she must be as good for you as you are for her." His father had come up to them and had heard Molly's comment. She watched as Sherlock visibly relaxed when he heard his father's praise.

"Hello my dear, welcome to this rather mad family!" He gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

They all walked inside. Molly couldn't get over how cozy the house was. Everything was neat and tidy, and elegantly decorated for Christmas. She quickly discovered that even though he may have tried to fight it, Sherlock's own tastes rather mimicked that of his parents.

There was a roaring fire going in the sitting room, keeping out the bitter cold. The tea things were laid out, ready for their arrival. A Christmas tree sat in the corner, the lights on it twinkling.

Sherlock led Molly to the sofa and they sat down, Mycroft sitting in a chair opposite them. As their parents also took a seat, Mrs. Holmes began to pour the tea. She first handed Molly a cup, as she took it she opened her mouth to thank her, but before she could get the words out Sherlock's mother practically exploded.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes! You married this poor woman and didn't give her a ring?"

Sherlock visibly winced at the use of his full name. Before either he or Molly could explain the reasoning behind this, she had shuffled out of the room.

"Allow it to happen Sherlock, you know how she is, no use fighting it."

Molly looked at Mycroft, wondering what he was getting at, as their father simply shook his head. Mrs. Holmes came walking back in, holding a small black box.

"It's bad enough that all you had was a civil ceremony, not even waiting to have us there! But I absolutely draw the line at no ring! Here you go my dear, it was my grandmothers. I must admit I had quite given up on this ever being passed on, but I am glad that I am mistaken."

Molly took the box and opened it. Her mouth fell open slightly, the ring was beautiful. It was clearly an antique, but had been kept impeccably clean. It was most definitely a treasured item. She had never been one for jewelry, even when she had worn the ring that Tom had given her she felt rather awkward wearing it. But this, this she knew that she would never felt awkward wearing. She moved to take the ring out of the box, but stopped when Mrs. Holmes made a noise.

"Tut tut! You can't put on the ring yourself! William! Do it properly!"

"Mother!"

"William!"

Molly shyly handed over the box to him. With an annoyed huff he removed the ring from its velvet casing. But then he gently took up her hand in his, letting their eyes meet for a moment. With a small smile he slipped the ring onto her finger. Their eyes met again and she smiled widely.

"There now! Much better! No married woman should ever go without a ring!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, tugging Molly onto his lap.

Later, when they were alone in his bedroom, lying down on his bed Sherlock turned to her.

"Was I wrong, in not giving you a ring?"

"Sherlock … you know I didn't want one. That neither one of us felt that it was necessary."

He took up her hand, running his thumb over his great-grandmother's ring.

"You don't have to keep this on, if you don't want to. Well, wear it while we are here, or my mother will have a fit, but when we get home you don't have to keep it on, if you don't want to."

She smiled, "I rather like it. I think it's beautiful. I don't actually mind wearing it."

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her finger, right above the ring, before moving upwards and kissing her mouth.

"They like you, love you actually, I'm sure."

Molly smiled against his mouth as she kissed him back.

"I love them. They're wonderful. Not at all what I would have expected really, but I do rather adore them."

His hand was gently rubbing her belly, as he started to kiss her neck.

"I think you're going to have to accept the fact that you will probably being seeing more of them, than you're used to, from now on."

He groaned into her skin.

"Sorry Sherlock … it's a burden you will have to bear."

"Wonderful." He muttered as he pulled away from her, laying down on his back.

"Your mother has waited a long time for a grandchild Sherlock …"

"It's not my fault it didn't happen sooner."

Molly snorted, "Actually it is."

"Hmph."

"Ohh … grumpy!"

She moved closer to him, her belly gently pressing into his hip as she began to trace her fingertips over the outline of his face. He quickly began to visibly relax, his eyes dropping closed.

"I have apologized about that, haven't I?"

She stilled her hand as he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"About none of this happening sooner?"

She nodded, "Yes … and I told you, it was worth the wait." She kissed him, his hand coming up to rest on the small of her back.

* * *

The next morning Molly woke up to the sound of Sherlock snoring. She chuckled softly. She rather enjoyed watching him sleep, seeing as it was rather a rare sight. How he could go for days on end without eating or sleeping was something she could not comprehend. Although, she had been able to get some food into him, as well have him take a couple of hours sleep at times. Perhaps what his father had said was the truth.

Pressing a gentle kiss to his temple, she slowly removed herself from his arms, slipping out of the bed. She was desperate for a cup of tea. After putting on some clothes she padded down the hall, and made her way down into the kitchen. All was quiet in the house; making her wonder if she was the only one awake.

"Good morning my dear."

Molly jumped slightly, before spinning around, only to find Sherlock's father sitting at the table.

"Didn't mean to frighten you."

"That's quite all right Mr. Holmes."

"Please, call me Siger." He stood up, "Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?"

"Tea, please. Sherlock would have my head if I drank coffee."

Siger chuckled.

"Ahhh … how is my son as a husband? If you don't mind my asking?"

Molly blushed, "He is surprisingly affectionate. He can be pathetically ignorant, but he will only make a mistake once; I suppose his love of learning is good in that respect."

Siger chuckled again as he handed her a cup of tea, "The affection he gets from me, although his mother is a rather passionate woman when the mood sets in."

Molly felt herself blush again.

"I must admit, I was greatly surprised when Mycroft told us the news of your marriage. But I suppose I should have expected it."

Molly had been blowing gently on her tea to cool it, but stopped when he spoke the last sentence. She looked up at him.

"You knew. You knew I helped Sherlock fake his death."

His kind eyes met hers.

"Yes. We would have happily welcomed you into our family then, but Mycroft strictly forbid it; said that it would look too suspicious. Don't quite know what he meant by that." He let out a sigh, "I am glad that Sherlock finally came to realize and accept his feelings for you. He's not one to let too many people in."

Molly smiled at him as she took a sip of her tea.

"Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?" He nodded towards her belly.

She placed a hand upon it, "I'm not sure. I suppose a girl. I'm sure he wants a boy."

"Hope for a girl my dear, Holmes boys are an absolute terror!"

Molly laughed at this, not possibly being able to fathom what it must have been like bringing up both Mycroft and Sherlock.

A little while later Molly was making her way back upstairs to see if Sherlock was awake yet. She stopped when she noticed several family portraits hanging on the wall. A few were of Sherlock and Mycroft when they were younger. She couldn't help but smile, even than Sherlock had his signature curls and Mycroft had his signature sneer. What brought her to a complete stand still though was a photograph of Sherlock, Mycroft and someone else. He was standing between them, a perfect mixture of the two. Molly felt her mouth drop open, was their another Holmes brother?

"Molly …"

She snapped out of her reverie when she heard her name. Sherlock was standing in the doorway of his bedroom. When she didn't move he walked over to her and saw the photograph she was staring at.

"Who is he?"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably.

"Sherrinford. My brother."

"Your brother. You have another brother?"

"Had."

"Oh."

"He was a soldier. In Afghanistan. He died."

"Oh."

"We don't … really ever speak about him."

He took her hand and tugged her in the direction of his bedroom.

"That's why you were so interested in John, wasn't it? At least one of the reasons. He reminded you of your brother, didn't he?"

Sherlock had sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her down onto his lap.

"Hmmm … I suppose your right! Sometimes you really do amaze me Molly, how is it that you see the things that I do not?"

She reached up, brushing his hair back from his forehead, "I don't know. I just do."

He kissed her gently.

"Your father told me that they knew I had helped in the faking of your death."

"Ahh…"

"I wish I had known … that they knew. It would have been nice, not to have been so alone. I would have liked being able to talk to someone else who knew that you were still alive. Mycroft was certainly no help in that area."

She felt him flinch.

"I am sorry about that. I didn't realize what a burden it was that I was asking you to bear. I shouldn't have done that to you." He hid his face in her chest, "Forgive me."

Sometimes he really was like an overgrown toddler. She laid her cheek on top of his hair.

"Sherlock, what's done is done. You're alive, and we're together, and we're having a child. You're not forgiven, because there's nothing to forgive."

He lifted up his head and looked at her, "I really, really don't deserve you."

"Oh but you do, you do!"


	3. Tea and Sympathy

**TRIGGER WARNING: **Mentions of miscarriage.

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Chapter Three – Tea and Sympathy

_A cup of tea would restore my normality. _

_ \- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (Screenplay), Douglas Adams_

* * *

Molly was four months pregnant. Four months pregnant and stuck inside the flat with a terrible head cold. It was one of those kinds of colds where your nose drips constantly, your eyes water, and your sinuses ache. To put it mildly, Molly was miserable. And to top it all off, Sherlock was pouting.

They had argued a few days earlier. This wasn't uncommon, they often had little spats, but either one or the other would give in (Sherlock!) and they usually ended with one of them dragging the other in the direction of the bedroom (Molly!). Except for that one time when they had fought in public; that had turned out to be rather interesting.

Most of their arguments were about Sherlock's over-protectedness and constant worry about Molly's health and the health of the baby. For the most part Molly put up with it, rather enjoying Sherlock being … there really is no better word for it … fussy. But there were times where her hormones would kick in and she would snap at him, or not give in. Such as a few days ago.

Sherlock was being persistent in demanding her to leave her work at Bart's, at least until sometime after the baby was born. He strongly believed that it would not be wise for her to continue opening up dead bodies while carrying a new life inside of her.

"What if I just oversaw the autopsy while someone else actually did the work?"

He paused, knowing all too well that she would have a counter-argument to each of his.

"I don't like the thought of you both being in that environment. You could contract something."

"Sherlock, I have worked in the morgue for years and I have never gotten sick. Why on earth would I suddenly now?"

He slumped further into his chair.

"The lab. I don't want you in the lab either. Too many experiments, dangerous chemicals."

She huffed loudly, "You've told me more times than I can count that I'm the only pathologist in the whole hospital who will work with you! More like put up with you."

She muttered the last sentence under her breath, "What are you going to do when you have a case, and I'm not there?"

His mouth drooped slightly, "It won't be the same without you. Won't feel like home."

She leaned back into the cushions of the sofa, her hands coming to rest on her belly.

"Meena might work with you, if I ask her."

His eyebrows rose.

"You'll need to be nice to her. No deductions."

He scowled.

"And absolutely no flirting Sherlock!"

His eyes widened.

"Why on earth would I do that? You're the only pathologist I ever flirted with. Ever wanted to flirt with."

She giggled slightly, then shook her head.

"I'm not agreeing to it. Not yet. At least let me work a couple of more months!"

"Molly!"

"Sherlock."

The argument had ended there because Mrs. Hudson had come up the stairs with a client, Molly quickly making herself scarce. Three days later she came home sneezing. She was not a violent person, but never had she more wanted to slap the 'I told you so' expression off of Sherlock's face.

"Id's a common cold 'erlock, nod some dangerous disease. Mike had id lasd week." She spat at him, or at least she tried to amidst the constant blowing of her nose.

In spite of the fact that he was still pouting because she hadn't agreed to his terms, he had become determined that he, and only he would take care of her while she was sick.

"Never thoughd of you as a nursing dype. You can barely dake care of yourself."

He huffed, "I took care of John whenever he had a cold."

"John dold me all you did was doss boxes of dissues ad his head."

"I was merely providing him with extras. Are you cold?"

She had shivered slightly, having taken root on the sofa, insisting that she would not lie in the bed and get her germs all over it.

"Yes."

He quickly ran off to retrieve a blanket. Molly shook her head in wonder.

_ What have I done to this man?_

Her thoughts would have continued if a sudden sneeze attack hadn't come upon her. Sherlock returned with the blanket, tucking it in around her before placing a kiss on her forehead.

"I'll go make you some tea, and perhaps toast?"

"I'm nod hungry."

"Hmph. You sound like me! You need to eat something Molly, if not for you at least for the baby."

Her eyes widened slightly, "Oh, righd. How derribly selfish of me. I jusd feel so miserable, I'm nod even dhinking straighd."

He kissed her forehead again, "I'll make you toast."

Molly wished she could see into the kitchen from where she was laying. The sight of The Great Sherlock Holmes domestically puttering about was always a sight for sore eyes. And her eyes were very sore. She closed them, rubbing at them gently. How she hated being sick! She must have dozed off for suddenly she was gently being nudged awake.

"I would have let you sleep, but you really do need to eat something."

She sat up and took the tea he was holding out to her. He sat down next to her, a plate of toast in his hand.

"Six slices? I'm nod eading all of dhad!" She stated firmly as she blew on her tea.

He snorted, "Don't be ridiculous! Some of it is for me." He slid a slice off the plate and took a rather large bite.

"You're eading? No case dhan?"

He shook his head, swallowing before he spoke, "No. I told Lestrade not to bother me, that I'm busy."

She paused with her mug mid-way to her mouth, "Busy? You jusd dold me you didn'd have a case! Busy widh whad?"

He had taken another bite of toast, when he turned to look at her. This time he didn't wait to swallow.

"I'm busy taking care of you! Isn't that obvious? This cold really has dulled your senses."

Molly glared at him, "You really need do work on your bedside manner."

"Bedside manner? Molly, we're sitting on the sofa."

"Id's a saying Sherlock."

"A ridiculous one."

She rolled her eyes and took a slice of toast. She sniffled, clearing her nose slightly.

"You don't have to lock yourself away in here with me. Take cases, it's perfectly all right. I'd hate for you to get bored."

He was looking at her again; with one of those looks that let you know that he thought what you were saying was utter nonsense.

"You don't bore me. You never bore me."

She couldn't help but smile at his words.

"Yes, but there's not much I can do right now, except lie here and sniffle."

"Exactly, this is why I am staying here and taking care of you, so you don't over-exert yourself."

She sighed slightly, not sure of what to make of this very different Sherlock.

"Fine. Stay here and take care of me if that's what you really want."

"Yes. It is."

He placed a kiss upon her temple then held out the plate to her.

"Eat some more toast."

* * *

Two days, two days into this blasted cold and she was ready to murder Sherlock. And she knew exactly how to do it too. The ridiculous man was a Mother Hen! Who would have thought? She barely got a moments peace, except for when she was sleeping, and even then he would wake her to have her take her pills that the doctor had prescribed for her. He constantly asked her if she needed anything, more tissues, a cup of tea, if she was too cold or too warm. For the most part though she took it all in stride; knowing how very much so out of character this was for him.

When John had first texted her, "SHERLOCK IS TAKING CARE OF YOU? – JW" it took several minutes of sending replies to convince him. Even then he still wasn't entirely convinced. It wasn't until he had to stop by to bring Molly her prescription that he saw first hand that she had been speaking the truth. He had managed to sneakily snap a few photos, to show Mary later, not certain that after he walked out of the flat he would be able to believe what his own eyes had seen.

Molly had just settled back into the cushions of the sofa and Toby had come and curled up at her feet. For the time being all was quiet in the flat. She closed her eyes, taking full advantage of the silence. Sadly it did not last for very long. A large sneeze erupted from her, sending her reaching out for the tissues, and Toby darting away, frightened by her outburst. After blowing her nose for what felt like the thousandth time, she leaned once more back into the pillows. Why did her head insist on feeling as if it was stuffed with cotton? Groaning she threw her arm over her eyes. Outside of her noises the flat was still surprisingly quiet.

"'erlock?"

No answer.

She coughed, clearing her throat and spoke louder.

"'erlock?!"

He hadn't gone out, had he? Not without saying anything! And from the way he had been acting, it seemed highly unlikely. Perhaps he had only popped down to Mrs. Hudson … but still to not have said anything to her.

"'erlock?!"

This time there was a noise in answer to her call. It was coming from the floor above, in John's old room. There was a flurry of footsteps coming down the stairs, then Sherlock entered the room. He hurried over to her.

"I thought you were asleep."

He was brushing her hair back from her face, how she loved the touch of his fingers. Her eyes fell closed.

"Mmm … no nod quide."

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Whad were you doing?"

His eyes flitted away from hers, then back.

"I was playing my violin. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. I didn'd hear a dhing. You can play down here, I don'd mind. I love lisdening do you play."

He smiled at her, before pressing a kiss to her forehead, then going back upstairs to retrieve his violin. She rolled on to her side, grabbing a tissue to wipe her nose, suddenly feeling pleasantly uncongested. He came back down, clutching his beloved instrument. He smiled down at her again before lifting the violin to his shoulder and adjusting it against his chin. She closed her eyes as he began to play.

Molly wasn't lying when she told him that she loved listening to him play, she could quite happily listen to him on the violin for hours. It was euphoric. The sound sent thrills throughout her entire body. She also loved watching him; the way his long, slender fingers moved over the violin. She was certain that he could be an excellent pianist if he put his mind to it. He had a musician's hands. He most certainly played his fingers over her body as if she was an instrument.

Suddenly he stopped playing.

"You're blushing. Why are you blushing?"

Her eyes flew open.

"You don't have a fever, do you?"

He had put down the violin and was kneeling before her, the back of his hand resting against her forehead. She sat up, taking his hand in hers.

"No you silly man, I don't have a fever. I was blushing because of what I was thinking about."

She was running her hand over his, tracing the lines of his palm with her fingertips.

"Ahh…"

"I was thinking about your fingers … how much I love them. How much I love the way they make me feel when you touch me … everywhere."

She was kissing his fingers now.

"Molly …"

"I know Sherlock … I'm sick … I was just telling you … what I was thinking about … that's all."

She moved to lie back down, but was stopped when he pulled her close to him. He brushed his nose against her neck, then the shell of her ear.

"When you're well again, you will have to tell me exactly what it is that I do with my fingers that you enjoy so much."

She shuddered slightly against him. Curse this stupid cold! He leaned away from her and placed a very gentle kiss upon the tip of her, rather red, nose.

"Try and get some sleep."

"I'm not really tired."

He huffed slightly.

"Just lay here with me? I'm kind of cold."

He nodded before stretching himself out behind her, his back to the sofa so that she could reach out and grab a tissue if need be. He pulled the nearby blanket over them, his arm curling protectively around her growing belly. He placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder and she sighed happily.

Suddenly a loud purr reached both of their ears. Toby had come out of hiding and was on the sofa once more. He was walking along Sherlock's legs, stopping when he came to his hip and laid down, curling up into a ball, purring contentedly.

"Damn cat." Sherlock muttered.

Molly giggled, reaching up to stroke Toby's head.

"You love him, admit it. He clearly loves you."

Sherlock sniffed in disdain.

"I only put up with him, because you love him, and I love you."

He kissed her neck, right below her ear.

"Mmm … fibbing again … I've seen you give him treats when you thought I wasn't looking."

He only grumbled in reply, burying his nose in the nape of her neck, causing her to giggle again.

"Molly?"

"Mmm… what?"

"Have you thought at all about what I asked you?"

She breathed out slowly through her nose, amazed that she was actually able to do so.

"Now, Sherlock? We're going to talk about this now?"

"No time like the present!"

She rolled her eyes turning her head to look at him.

"Why are you so insistent?"

He looked away from her, a clear sign that he was trying to hide something.

"Sherlock … what is it?" She reached up, rubbing her hand over his jaw line, "There's something else, isn't there? It's not just the environment … there's some other reason, isn't there?"

He sighed deeply, "I can never hide anything from you, can I?"

"No. Tell me. Tell me what it is."

Sighing again, he tightened his hold around her belly before bringing his eyes up to meet hers.

"My mother she … she had three miscarriages. One after Mycroft, one after Sherrinford, and one after me."

He looked away from her again. She leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes.

"I-I don't think that that will happen with you, but I, I just want you and the baby to be safe and healthy."

She curled into him, sniffling slightly.

"All right Sherlock … you win. I'll talk to Meena."

This time he let out a contented and relieved sigh, before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Now you'll have plenty of time to finish that paper you've been working on."

"Sherlock Holmes! Did you hack into my laptop?"

He snorted in derision, "I hardly call it hacking! You really have the most horrid tastes in passwords. Pathetically simple to guess what it was!"

She started muttering under her breath, a few choice curse words, and he was certain he caught the word 'git.' He only chuckled in response, pulling her closer up against him.

"Still not sleepy?" He asked, after her tirade had quieted down.

"Only a little."

Her head was snuggled into his chest.

"Read to me?"

He hesitated only a moment, "All right. What would you like to hear?"

"Mmm … _The Hobbit_? I started reading it a couple of days ago."

"Fantasy." He spat out but still he leaned over her, causing Toby to meow in disappointment, as he grabbed the book off of the coffee table. Toby settled back down, as Sherlock did the same. Molly curled once more into his chest as he opened up the book to where she had last stopped. He cleared his throat and began to read.

"Well thief! I smell you and I feel your air! I hear your breath. Come along! Help yourself again, there is plenty to spare!"

As Sherlock continued to read Molly felt her eyes drooping closed, the soothing baritone of his voice rumbling through his chest lulling her to sleep. He soon realized that she had drifted off; he stopped reading out loud, but continued to read the book. He had never been one for reading fiction, fantasy fiction that is, but there was something about this Smaug that he rather liked. As Molly slept in his arms he continued to read, and when he got to the end he laid there for a moment before opening the book back up and starting it from the beginning.


	4. Secrets, Tears and Memories

Chapter Four – Secrets, Tears and Memories

_Crying does not indicate that you are weak. _

_Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive. _

_ \- Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte_

* * *

221B Baker Street looked nothing like what it had a year ago. Sherlock Holmes had never been one for extreme tidiness; piles of newspapers and case files nicked from the NSY were always strewn about the place. Even when John lived there, the neatness had increased slightly, but nothing like what it was now. Mrs. Hudson would sneak up from time to time, when they were out on a case, to do a bit of dusting but she didn't dare to do anything about the mess. What had been lacking was a constant woman's presence. Now, of course, that had been solved. This very woman, Molly Holmes, née Hooper, had not done much to change the flat. Her books had been added to the shelves, tucked in amongst Sherlock's, a few picture frames, a vase that was her mother's, and a pocket watch and pipe that had been her father's. There were no cat figurines or any other silly tchotchkes, just one small box that held a few treasures from her childhood.

Shortly after she had moved in she had made a point to organize what Sherlock considered to be vital and important papers. With just a few filing boxes she had managed to sort and hide away what had once been an utter mess. He had stood there a bit shocked by what she had done and slightly miffed that he hadn't thought of it himself. Her only response was to laugh at his annoyance, a laugh that he quickly silenced with a kiss.

Molly was, at the moment, looking for her childhood box trying to remember if there was anything in it that would amuse little Amelia Watson. John and Mary were going out on a date tonight, their first since their daughter had been born, and Sherlock and Molly were going to babysit her. Molly was rummaging through Sherlock's wardrobe, trying her best to recall where he had put the box. Pushing a few button-up shirts aside (they were hanging in color order) her eyes alighted upon a small wooden box. She was never one to pry into another person's things, but something was drawing her to that box. She picked it up, it was slightly larger than her hand, and carried it to the bed. She sat down; she was finding herself needing to do that more often. Rubbing one hand over her belly, which had grown considerably, she opened the box. Her own face stared back up at her. It was one of her old ID cards from Bart's. A rather old one that she had tucked away in her locker. When she had noticed it missing she had thought that perhaps she had accidentally thrown it away. Never did she once consider that Sherlock had nicked it. _The sly bastard. _How long had he had it? She picked it up, cringing slightly at the horrible quality of the photo. There was something else in the box that caught her eye. She laid down the ID card. Her mouth fell open slightly when she realized what else was in the box. It was the little gift tag that had been attached to the present she had given Sherlock, on that dreadful Christmas.

_ To Sherlock, love Molly xxx_

He had kept it? She felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes, unable to stop herself from hearing the words he had spoken to her. The tears started to flow more freely when she played back in her mind how he had asked her to forgive him, before placing a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Molly?"

She sniffled slightly before answering, "In the bedroom!" There was no point in trying to hide what she had found, he would see her tears and ask and try to deduce what had upset her.

He stepped into the room, saw her sitting on the bed and hurried over to her.  
"You're crying, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you in pain?" He kneeled down in front of her.

She laughed slightly, "Stop worrying, I'm fine. It's just hormones."

She took the offered tissue and dried her eyes before wiping her nose. That's when he saw what she had found.

"Ahh …"

"I'm sorry. I know it was rude of me, I shouldn't have opened it."

"No, it's all right. I'm glad you found it."

He picked up the gift tag.

She sniffled again, "That was a horrid Christmas."

He frowned, "I never should have said what I did."

"Why did you? You would always make comments about my appearance or something, but you never rattled off quite like that before."

He looked up at her, "Do you really want to know?"

She hesitated a moment, his gaze was so intense, "Yes."

He tore his eyes away from her.

"I was jealous."

The word hung in the air between them, as neither spoke a word for several moments.

"I was jealous because I thought you had dressed yourself up for someone else; that you had plans to go see someone afterwards. The thought hadn't once crossed my mind that you would have done all of that for me. And it upset me, and I hated myself for it. So I deduced every little thing that I could about you, until I realized that the gift was for me. I instantly felt horrible, realizing the mistake I had made. I do always miss something."

He returned his eyes to hers, "I think that's the moment I realized I was falling in love with you. And it terrified me. Here I was always going off about how love and sentiment and caring were a chemical defect … and I was completely falling prey to it. As always the body betrays."

She laughed softly as she leaned her forehead against his. He closed his eyes, sighing as he nuzzled his nose against hers.

"I wanted to tell you. John told me I should. But then Moriarty happened. And you said that you didn't count."

He opened his eyes, looking directly into hers as he reached up, placing his hands on either side of her face.

"You could not have been more wrong."

She kissed him fiercely, hungrily, pulling him up on the bed with her. He gently laid her down on her back, his body hovering over hers. He was stroking her cheek with his fingers.

"I couldn't fathom how you could think that."

"I thought I was just a means to an end; someone whom you could easily manipulate. But I didn't care. I liked being around you. I liked helping you. It made me feel important."

His fingers brushed over her lips.

"You were important. You _are _important. Always have been. Always will be."

He kissed her then, deeply, and she kissed him back.

"That night, when I asked for your help, I shouldn't have just said that I needed you, I should have told you that I loved you."

She reached up, running her hands through his curls.

"In your own way, I think that you kind of did. It just wasn't the right time."

He grumbled slightly, hiding his face in her shoulder, "It should have happened much sooner."

She smiled slightly, "I kind of like the way it did happen."

He lifted up his head and looked down at her, "Yes, you drunk dialing me … definitely the right way to do it!"

She gave his curls a little tug.

"It worked though, didn't it? Did you ever expect anything with us to be … normal?"

He smiled then, "Mmm … nope!"

She laughed, "Exactly."

He kissed her again, this time slowly and gently. She sighed against his lips. When his hands started to wander she pulled away from him.

"Aren't John and Mary supposed to be coming soon?"

"Humph. I forgot about that."

He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.

"It's early yet. They won't be here for at least another hour. Ample time to do … something." He started to nuzzle her neck, his hands wandering again.

"Is your appetite ever sated?" She questioned, giggling.

"Mmmm … for you … no …!"

* * *

An hour later both of them were freshly showered and dressed. Molly's face though, was still flushed when John and Mary arrived with little Amelia in tow. She was tucked into her car seat, her eyes wide, watching them all with curious stares. All Mary needed was to give Sherlock and Molly each a look before bursting into laughter. John looked at her confused, while Molly's cheeks grew a deeper shade of red and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes. While John and Sherlock went to sit in the living room, Molly and Mary went into the kitchen.

"Please don't think of me as being biased for saying this, it is not just because I am her mother! Amelia is a very unfussy baby, she barely ever cries and when she falls asleep, she sleeps for hours. I must say that John and I feel rather blessed. There's a change of clothes in her bag, if needed, and plenty of diapers. I think John put her milk in the fridge. The bottles are in her bag, and they've been properly sanitized. She loves music, be sure to let Sherlock know, I'm certain that he would love nothing more than to play for her; analyze her response to his music or some such!"

Molly couldn't help but laugh, knowing that that would be exactly something Sherlock would do.

"Don't worry Mary, she'll be fine. And I'll make sure that he won't do any experiments on her!"

Mary nodded, this was the first time she would be away from her daughter for several hours, but she knew that she could trust both of them. Well, at least Molly.

"I'll text you updates throughout the night, but do try to relax and have fun, for both your sakes."

Mary nodded again before giving Molly a hug, "You two have fun as well. This will be good practice for you both, before your own little one arrives." She gave a gentle pat to Molly's belly.

"I'm rather looking forward to taking care of Amelia for the evening. It's been awhile since I've held a baby in my arms."

"Just wait until you hold your own, there's nothing quite like it!"

Mary and Molly walked out of the kitchen and into the living room where John and Sherlock were. Molly froze in her step, awed by what she saw before her. John was sitting in his chair, across from Sherlock, leaning forward, watching closely. Sherlock had little Amelia tucked into his arms, he was actually cradling her. Molly felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as Sherlock held his hand up in front of Amelia, he smiled as her tiny little fingers wrapped around of one his own large ones.

John stood up then, walking over to Mary, "I think these two will be fine with her tonight." He swallowed, slightly overcome with emotion, "I had no idea that he was, he was capable of this." John motioned with his hand, sweeping from where Sherlock sat, to where Molly was still standing frozen in place watching him.

"Don't be ridiculous John; I've always been perfectly capable. I just never had any reason to show it," He looked up from Amelia to Molly, holding out his hand to her, "Until now."

At his words Molly was broken out of her reverie and walked over to him, taking his hand. Thankfully John had enough of his senses about him to quickly and quietly snap a photo with his phone. He cleared his throat.

"Right uhm … Mary wrote up a whole list of instructions for you both. Mostly about feeding … I'm sure she's given you plenty of information Molly."

Mary laughed softly, her mind having been put completely at ease by the sight of the two of them with Amelia, "Yes, I did, come husband, let us go and enjoy our night together."

They both walked forward, and each placed a gentle kiss on Amelia's forehead; she was still lying contentedly in Sherlock's arms. Then they left. The flat was quiet, except for the soft cooing noises that Amelia was making. Molly stood beside them, her hand now resting on his shoulder. Amelia had her fingers wrapped around one of Sherlock's again. He was staring down at her. There eyes locked on each other's.

"Babies are positively fascinating. They are so completely helpless, incapable of doing anything for themselves, and yet they are amazingly smart. How incredible that directly from birth we begin to learn … and never stop."

Molly had sat down in John's chair, certain that she would never grow tired of the sight of a baby in Sherlock's arms. She rubbed her belly, her heart practically aching at the thought of what it was going to be like to see him holding their own child.

He looked up at her then, smiling at her.

"I have no doubt that Amelia will have a great intellect, with whom she has for parents, which leaves not a single doubt in my mind that our own child will be nothing short of a genius."

Molly laughed, "Not a high functioning sociopath than?"

He sighed, looking back down at Amelia, "No. Our daughter will not grow up to be like me."

"Our daughter? You've deduced that we're having a girl? I thought we agreed to not know until the birth?"

He quickly looked up at her, but found that she was smiling at him.

"Couldn't help it. The way you're carrying shows it."

Her smile grew wider, "Are you happy, that we're having a girl? Or did you want a son?"

He let out another sigh, "Molly, I more so than anything want our child to be healthy, but I must admit that I am rather pleased with the prospect of a daughter. My mother assured me that raising a Holmes boy was no easy task."

Molly laughed, "Girls can be difficult too and she will be half Holmes."

"Mmmm … I must apologize for that. I can assure you that she will more than likely have a very stubborn streak."

Molly laughed again, "Oh, I don't doubt it. We are both equally stubborn, Sherlock."

He smiled at her, "Let's just hope that our daughter doesn't acquire any of Mycroft's traits."

At that Molly let out a loud snort, then covered her mouth and nose in embarrassment, "That would be … most unfortunate."

Suddenly Amelia started to fidget, her legs kicking the air as her noises grew slightly louder. Sherlock looked back down at her, "I think she may be hungry."

Molly stood up slowly, her hand resting on her lower back, "I'll go and heat up her milk."

Once it had reached the proper temperature she filled up a bottle and carried it back into the living room. Sherlock's fingertip was in Amelia's mouth. The expression on her face was of pure frustration.

"I think she's upset that I am not giving her any milk."

Molly just simply shook her head, "Do you want to feed her, or shall I?"

He took the bottle from her hand in answer and proceeded to feed Amelia. Molly sat back down, amazed at how Sherlock had so effortlessly slipped into taking care of a baby. Never a man to do anything by halves, from the day he had deduced that she was pregnant he had begun to read up on babies and their growth and development.

She had warned him straight away that he could not treat their child like a science experiment. He assured her that he had no intention of doing so, that instead he was going to be looking at this experience as an ongoing and ever constant learning curve. He had all intentions of analyzing and notating each and every moment, but only for his own enjoyment, not for the sake of science.

"Mary told me that she loves music."

Sherlock shifted slightly, taking care to not disturb the bottle, "Does she now?" He looked down at Amelia and smiled, "Smart girl!"

"How did you decide to play the violin?"

Sherlock shook his head, "I didn't exactly decide, it just sort of happened. My mother had a violin, hidden away in a closet. I came upon it one day when I was trying to hide from Sherrinford and Mycroft. It fascinated me. I tried to figure out how it worked, plucking at the strings, moving the bow. My mother found me a little while later and decided to have me take lessons. And there you have it."

"How old were you?"

He slowly looked up at her, "Two."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know me better than anyone else."

Amelia finished the bottle. He set it down on the table beside him. Molly stood up and got a towel from the bag, laying it over her shoulder.

"I'll burp her. I highly doubt that you want to."

"Molly, being a parent means that you must be willing to partake in all aspects of raising a child."

She still held her hands out for her.  
"Oh, you simply want to have a chance to hold her."

"Yes, you ridiculous man, you can't monopolize her the entire night!"

He stood up and gently laid her in Molly's arms. Molly shifted her slightly so that Amelia's cheek was resting on her shoulder.

"Hello sweet girl …." She spoke softly to her, "Uncle Sherlock loves you my dear, and Auntie Molly does too." She placed a kiss on the downy head, her hand rubbing soothingly on Amelia's back.

Sherlock's arms felt strangely empty, but the sight of Molly holding Amelia quickly distracted him. Never before had he considered fatherhood. For years he had scoffed at the thought of ever being in love. But Molly had proved to him that every one of his beliefs had been wrong. He had never liked being wrong, but in this case, he rather enjoyed it.

He stepped away from them and took up his violin. As he started to play he watched the two of them. Molly started to slowly sway to the music, her nose nestled into the warmth of Amelia's neck, her eyes closed reveling in the feel of the little body in her arms.

Sherlock was certain that at this very moment he had never been so happy, and that he could not wait for the day when they would be doing this with their own daughter.


	5. Don't Go Away

**TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of spousal abuse.**

**I apologize for how rather dark this chapter is. I had come up with the idea out of nowhere but didn't write it for awhile. The proper mood only struck when I found out about Robin William's death. I suppose writing this chapter was how I coped through the sadness I felt.**

**On tumblr? My fanfic tumblr is Sherlockian87 and my personal tumblr is Thesecitystreets**

**.**

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Chapter Five – Don't Go Away

_So don't go away, say what you say_

_But say that you'll stay forever and a day_

_In the time of my life 'cause I need more time_

_Yes I need more time just to make things right_

_ \- Don't Go Away, Oasis_

* * *

It was raining. Not a light, steady rain, it was pouring. And of course this had to be the one day that Molly did not have an umbrella with her. She had rushed out of the flat that morning, already ten minutes late, when she noticed the dark, threatening clouds overhead. Not wanting to make herself be even later, she decided not to go back in and grab an umbrella, but instead continue on to Bart's.

The rain was still coming down when her shift ended and it was time for her to go home. In spite of being able to quickly and miraculously hail a cab, she still managed to become rather soaked.

"Bloody awful weather!" She exclaimed as she slipped into the warmth of the cab.

"You can say that again, miss! I'm quite glad my job doesn't require me having to go out and walk in it!"

She smiled at the cab driver and gave him the address to Baker Street. As she leaned back into the seat she wiped away the rain from her face before fishing her phone out of her bag.

"On my way home. – M"

Expecting an almost immediate response, she was surprised when she did not receive one. Not any at all. Arriving at Baker Street she paid her fare then got out, sparing a second, despite the rain, to look up. The windows were lit, he was obviously home. She quickly let herself in, kicking off her shoes, not wanting to track in any water. She slowly began to climb the stairs, missing the days when she could move up them so quickly and easily. Upon entering the flat she instantly saw Sherlock sitting in his chair, his eyes closed, his fingers steepled.

"Mind Palace." She muttered under her breath. Peeling off her soaking coat and scarf she hung them up beside Sherlock's Belstaff and padded into the kitchen. Nothing like a nice cup of tea to ebb away the chill of such a bitter, rainy day, she thought to herself as she put the kettle one. Suddenly she yelped, jumping slightly as two warm arms enveloped her from behind.

"You're home." He murmured into her hair.

She turned around to face him, giving him a kiss, "I thought you wouldn't even notice. You seemed rather preoccupied when I walked in. I did text you."

"You did? Mmm … sorry … I was in my—"

"Mind Palace."

He nodded.

"How did you know I was home, then? I thought you shut everything out when you did that…"

"Molly, in spite of what everyone believes, John especially, I am always aware of what is going on around me. Even when I am in my Mind Palace. I just always chose to ignore John, mostly to piss him off."

She smacked the back of his head, "Nice Sherlock, real nice!"

He simply shrugged, then reached behind her to turn off the burner as the kettle began to boil. He poured the water into her mug, holding on to her with his other arm.

"Sooo … Meena has agreed to work with you."

He put down the kettle and looked at her, "Has she?"

"Yeah. You _must_ be nice. She doesn't know you quite like I do. She's not me."

He leaned his head against her, "No. She's not you at all. The morgue and the lab won't be the same without you." He sighed.

"Sherlock … you were the one who wanted me to do this."

He lifted his head and looked at her, "I know. I am glad. It will just … take some getting used to."

"Tell me about it. I've never been one to just lie about doing nothing."

"But you won't be! You'll be finishing that paper." He kissed her, "Go put on some dry clothes. I'll light a fire."

As she walked towards their bedroom she spoke quietly to herself, "Sherlock Holmes lighting a fire … never thought I'd want to hear him say that!"

After putting on dry, far more comfortable clothes she walked out into the living room where Sherlock was sitting on the sofa. He held his arms out to her and she walked over to him, curling into his embrace. They kissed quietly for a time, her tea growing cold, forgotten entirely.

"There's leftover take away from last night. You should eat." He said to her as they broke apart to catch their breath.

"Yeah, I should. She's been kicking quite a bit today. I think she's going to be a feisty one."

Molly stood up and went into the kitchen, Sherlock following her. He leaned against the counter as she moved about, grabbing the food from the fridge, preparing to heat it.

"Are you eating?"

He nodded in reply.

"No case then?"

He shook his head, "No. No one is being murdered apparently. I solved a multitude of trivial two's and three's by email." He scratched the back of his head, ruffling his hair. "Have you, have you thought anymore about a name for her?" He motioned to Molly's belly.

"Not today, no. I had a particularly tricky autopsy. The woman was thought to have died in her sleep, but I found traces of poison in her lungs. Took a good hour to cut through her chest cavity, and get it open wide enough, in order for me to be able to take some samples."

He reached out, grabbing Molly's wrist and pulling her to him.

"I love it when you talk post mortems."

She looked up at him, before bursting into laughter, "Sherlock … don't … don't ever try to do that again."

He looked extremely baffled, "Don't do what? I was only speaking the truth!"

She shook her head, still chuckling, before pressing a kiss to his lips and stepping away to take the food out of the microwave.

"Grab the plates will you?" She said to him as she carried the food out in to the living room. He followed her with the plates, handing her a fork as he sat back down next to her. They tucked into their food, neither speaking for some time. When they were finished eating she stretched out her legs over Sherlock's, sighing pleasantly as she leaned back into the sofa.

"Have you thought of any names?"

He worked his mouth for a moment, "Belladonna?"

"Sherlock. We are not naming our daughter after a poisonous plant!"

"It's only lethal if it is not taken at the proper dosage."

"NO."

He huffed.

"Alumina?"

"Aluminum Oxide? Really Sherlock? You told me how terribly you were teased as a child because of your name, and you want to call our daughter Alumina? How do you think she would fair with a name like that?"

He hummed in agreement.

"What about Elizabeth?"

He looked at her, "Why Elizabeth?" He was honestly expecting some silly response; that it was the name of a character from one of her favourite novels. But instead, Molly managed to surprise him, like always.

"Elizabeth Stern. She was a pathologist from Canada. I learned about her while I was at university. She is one of the main reasons why I chose pathology. She also helped to discover a way to treat cervical cancer. Quite a remarkable woman."

"Elizabeth Holmes. I like how that sounds."

Molly smiled at him, "You can pick her middle name, or give her two if you like." She nudged him teasingly with her foot.

"One is quite enough. Hmmmm …" He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. After a few minutes he opened them and looked at her, "Marie."

"After Marie Curie?"

"No. Marie-Anne Paulze Lavoisier. She was the wife of Antoine Lavoisier. He was a French chemist and she was his lab partner. A very remarkable woman. Her husband is considered to be 'the father of modern chemistry.' It is to him, and to her, that I owe my chemistry interests."

"Elizabeth Marie Holmes. I like that. Very pretty. An intelligent name for an intelligent girl." She rubbed her hand over her belly, feeling a soft kick. "I think she likes it too."

"Yes." He leaned forward, places kisses upon Molly's stomach, murmuring softly to their child.

"Sherlock, we're you just reciting the periodic table to her?"

He looked up, their eyes meeting, "Of course."

Molly smiled, reaching up to run her hand through his curls. He closed his eyes, resting his cheek on her belly.

"I love it when I can feel her move."

"Mmm … it is quite a sensation. Except for when she kicks my ribs … that hurts."

He chuckled.

* * *

The next morning Molly was sitting at the kitchen table, idly eating a bit of toast as she perused her notes for her paper. Sherlock's text notification broke through the silence of the flat. He didn't move from his spot on the sofa. He was stretched out, in his pyjamas in full Mind Palace mode. His phone went off again.

She looked up at him then at his pone, which happened to be on the table. It went off again. Sherlock still didn't move. She rolled her eyes and glanced at the phone as the screen lit up, it going off yet again.

"It's Lestrade."

"Most likely a four."

"You don't know that."

With a loud exhalation of air he swung his legs over, stood up, stepped onto the coffee table then proceeded to walk into the kitchen. She gave him a glare, which he duly ignored.

_Ridiculous man-child, walking on the furniture. _

"Hmmm … not a four … possibly a nine, maybe even a ten!"

The old excited gleam returned to his eyes. She watched, fascinated, loving how his mind reveled in a truly intriguing case. But suddenly the gleam died away. He looked at her.

"I don't if I should take it. Not with you …"

"Sherlock! I'm only six months pregnant. I'll be fine! Mrs. Hudson is right down stairs. Go, you haven't had a good case in weeks!"

The gleam in his eyes returned. He gathered her to him.

"Have I told you recently that I love you?"

"Mmmm …" She pretended to think for a moment, "No?"

He smiled, "Well, I do." He kissed her, "The game is on Mrs. Holmes!" He cried as he rushed off to get dressed. She rolled her eyes, chuckling to herself.

She never heard from him throughout the rest of the day. This didn't exactly surprise her. She often wouldn't, and she knew that this was because his mind was too wrapped up with the case to think of anything else. Sometimes John would text her, knowing how Sherlock could get, but today she did not hear from him either.

It was well passed midnight now, nearing one. She knew that she should get up and go to bed, but she couldn't quite bring herself to move. Sherlock had warned her that he may not come home that night, but still she felt that she needed to wait for him.

Suddenly she heard the front door open, and movement down below. Had he solved the case already? She sat up, then stood slowly, moving towards the door. She could hear his footsteps on the stairs. Something was wrong. They were heavy, yet determined, footsteps. Not his usual eager, light step. The door opened, revealing him to her. Her mouth dropped open. He looked pale, and ragged. Images filled her mind of when he had been shot, lying so pale, so near death in the hospital.

"Sherlock?"

He didn't speak. Only rushed towards her, taking her into his arms and clinging to her as if his very life depended on her.

"Sherlock, what is it?"

He still didn't speak.

John had come up the stairs behind him. He too looked pale, but nothing like Sherlock. She looked at him questioningly, but he just shook his head.

Suddenly Sherlock broke his silence.

"John, go home to Mary. You need her."

He nodded and left, shutting the door behind him. Sherlock still clung to her.

"Sherlock?"

His only reply was to bury his face in her neck, breathing heavily. She stood there for some moments, holding on to him, unsure of what to do.

"Sherlock … come to bed."

She felt him nod, his hold on her easing slightly. She stepped back and proceeded to slip off his Belstaff. He let go of her then, but kept his eyes locked on hers. She hung up his coat and undid his scarf, hanging that up as well. She took his hand and led him into their bedroom. She began to undress him. He quickly caught on and started to help, but his movements were slow, almost robotic. She undressed herself as well. When they were both entirely naked she pulled him under the covers. He curled into her, his head resting between her breasts. She hoped that being skin to skin with her would provide him with the comfort he seemed to so desperately need. She murmured softly to him, running her fingers through his curls, the way she knew that he liked. He still didn't say a word. He closed his eyes, and slowly, ever so slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

Molly woke the next morning with Sherlock's chest pressed against her back, his arm around her, his warm breath hitting the back of her neck. His steady breathing told her that he was still asleep.

Reaching out ever so slightly she grabbed up her phone and proceeded to text John.

"What happened yesterday? – M"

After a few minutes she received a reply.

"Ask Sherlock. He needs to tell you himself. – JW"

She stared at the screen for a moment, before realizing that Sherlock's hand was covering her own. He took her phone and tossed it up onto the nightstand, before gently turning her so that she was facing him. He no longer looked so deathly pale, but he still appeared shaken.  
"What happened Sherlock?"

She had never seen fear in his eyes before, but it was there now. He cupped her face in his hands; she could feel his heart racing as he leaned against her.

"Promise me you'll never leave."

He sounded like a frightened child. His words shocked her.

"Sherlock, what happened?"

He closed his eyes, a shaky breath escaping his lips as he tilted his forehead until it rested against hers. He then began to tell her.

"Lestrade brought us to the crime scene; it was on the South Bank of the Thames, a drowning. It was a woman; she was pregnant, six months. She had brown hair, she was … small. It wasn't accidental, she had killed herself. No one pushed her, she didn't slip and fall, she wanted to die.

"Her husband had made a lot of money from drug trafficking. When she approached him about it, he became abusive. He hit her. I could see the bruises on her body. She left him; terrified for her life and the life of her unborn child. She was trying to run away from him. But she knew, she knew that he could find her, wherever she went. So she jumped, into the Thames. She killed herself, and her baby, to protect them, from him."

He let out another shaky breath.

"Please … promise me that you'll never leave."

"Sherlock."

Her tone was so fierce. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. She covered his hands with her own, holding on to them tightly.

"I would never leave you. You are nothing like that man."

"I-I know. It's just that I know that I am difficult to live with. That I can say cruel things, that I am easily distracted, (though more so by you than anything else lately), and that I have a tendency to rush off to cases. But I … it's knowing that I have you to come home to, that you are always here. I no longer need a case to make me happy, to keep me from feeling bored. You are enough. I love waking up to you beside me, the sound of your voice singing horribly off-key while you're washing dishes, the nearness of you when we are laying on the couch watching crap telly. Just talking to you, telling you about my experiments, or you with your autopsies, I love it all. And I know, I know that I'm an awful husband, that I don't do any of the things that normal husband's do—"

She cut off his tirade with her fingers on his lips.

"I would not have married you, if this wasn't what I wanted. I wanted _you_. I still want you. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I agreed to marry you. Stop doubting me, Sherlock. Stop doubting yourself. I am here. And I am not going anywhere."

He pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. She kissed him back, pouring every ounce of her love for him into her kiss.


	6. Together, Even when We are Apart

**This is a much lighter chapter than my last one!**

**on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87**

**:)**

* * *

Chapter Six – Together, even when We are Apart

_i carry your heart with me(i carry it in_

_my heart) i am never without it(anywhere_

_i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done_

_by only me is your doing, my darling)_

_ \- i carry your heart, e.e. cummings_

* * *

Sherlock had been abnormally restless. Yes, abnormal even for him! Molly wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. He wasn't restless because he was bored, Lestrade was constantly texting him with cases, and it wasn't for a lack of experiments either. He had converted the empty flat of 221C, with Mrs. Hudson's permission, into his own personal lab. For hours on end he would disappear down there. Molly was strictly forbidden from entering, leaving her with no way to communicate with him except through texts; texts that he was usually oblivious to. Whenever this would happen she would either have Mrs. Hudson check on him, or send John (if he could get away from Mary and Amelia for a bit) to yell at him and bring him back to his senses.

Sherlock always made up for his absences though, devoting several hours to her, and when they laid in their post-coital bliss he would tell her about his cases or the experiments he was working on. She would too, discuss with him about how her paper was coming along, and any of the new findings she may have come across.

Molly was recounting all of these facts as she watched Sherlock pace the living room. He hadn't spoken a word for several hours. He never paced while he was in his Mind Palace, but it was clear that he was deep in thought. She knew better than to question him, knowing that this would only irritate him. But still, it worried her how he was acting. She at last decided to text both Lestrade and John; wanting some answers and hoping that they could give them to her.

John's reply caused a snort to erupt from her, "What's the annoying dick done now? – JW"

But Lestrade's brought it all to light, "There's been a triple murder in Reading. He's refused to take the case though; he's been refusing every case that would take him out of London. Has been doing that for some time now. Actually, ever since you got pregnant. In all honesty, I think he's afraid to leave you and the baby. Who knew that Sherlock Holmes could be afraid? But really, I don't blame him; I was the same way with my own wife when she was pregnant. – GL"

Putting down her phone she looked up at Sherlock, who was still pacing. How had this man who had once been so appalled by emotion, and love, and any sort of expression of feelings, become so selfless? Was she truly the cause of it all? Had she really played a part in helping him become the man that he had tried so hard to repress and hide for so many years?

"Sherlock …"

He paused mid-stride.

"Sherlock come and sit down."

He did; a flurry of pyjama bottoms and dressing gown. He stretched himself out, bringing his head to rest on her seven and a half month belly. She was glad that he chose to face her. She watched as he visibly relaxed and closed his eyes.

"I think you should take the Reading case."

His eyes flew open, meeting hers.

"Been talking with Lestrade, I see."

She smiled down at him, "I wanted to know what was going on inside of that head of yours! Why don't you take the case?"

He grumbled for a moment before replying, "I don't like the thought of being away from you. Reading isn't very close by, and I don't know how long I would be gone for. Plus there's John, he feels the same way; he doesn't want to leave Mary alone with Amelia."

She ran her fingers through his hair, "I don't want you to feel tied down because of me."

He reached up grabbing her hand, "I don't! Not at all."

"Sherlock, this is your job, you should take this case. Perhaps if this would make John feel better, and you, maybe Mary and Amelia could stay here while you both are away? Than neither one of us would be alone? Hmmm?"

He looked at her for a moment, blinking rapidly. John had once told her that he called this his "computing" face.

"I … that's a brilliant idea. Always missing something." Sherlock muttered the last bit under his breath before looking back up at her, "Molly, what would I do without you?"

She laughed, shaking her head, "So you'll take the case then?"

He sat up, leaning forward to kiss her, "Yes! If John will agree with your proposal. He'd be an idiot not to. I'm sure Mary will be more than happy to come and stay here. You tow can have some … what do you call it? 'Quality girl time!'"

Molly rolled her eyes at the expression on his face as she spoke the last bit. He quickly texted John as he began to tap his fingers impatiently on his knee, waiting for a reply.

* * *

Mary and Amelia had settled in comfortably. Mrs. Hudson had brought up tea and sandwiches; more so as an excuse to coddle and coo over Amelia.

"If you ever need a break my dear, a moment to yourself perhaps, do not hesitate to bring her down to me. I do so love babies! Shame I was never able to have one myself."

"Your husband ran a drug cartel, hardly a wise choice to procreate with!" Sherlock stated matter-of-factly as he walked into the room.

"Don't be so rude Sherlock!"

Molly gave his arm a swat as Mrs. Hudson made her way back downstairs. Molly could have sworn that she heard her muttering something about "your mother" and "have a chat with."

John came walking down from his old room, stepping over to Mary and looking down lovingly at Amelia.

"It's strange that you're staying here and I'm not. It's a bit surreal."

Mary placed her hand on his arm as she looked up at him, "We'll be fine John."

Molly smiled as she watched the two of them. Her attention was diverted though when Sherlock took her hand and gave it a gentle tug. He led her to their bedroom and shut the door.

"What is it?" She asked, expecting more instructions on what she should and shouldn't do, to remember to eat … etc. The man was an enigma!

Instead of answering her question he gathered her into his arms, holding her close, burying his nose into her neck. She reveled in the warmth of his arms, knowing that it would be several days at least, if not longer, before she would be in these arms again. He pulled away from her slightly, but not weakening his hold on her, only to rest his forehead against hers. Their eyes connecting.

"Ever since I lost my dog Redbeard, when I was a boy, I have kept everyone at arms length. I was afraid to let anyone in. I didn't want to experience that feeling of loss again. When I first met John I realized the companionship that I had been missing, withholding myself from for years. To lose him would be a devastating blow, but nothing like the loss of you."

She stared up at him for a few moments, awed by his confession and also slightly frightened by it, "Where is all this coming from? Aren't you the one who is going off to track down a dangerous murderer?"

He sighed, "Yes, but I just wanted you to know how important you are to me, and how much I will miss you."

She leaned into him, "I'll miss you too."

He kissed her, cradling her face in his hands before leaning down to place a kiss on her belly. They walked back out into the living room.

"Come John, we have a murderer to catch!"

With a flurry of coats and scarves the two men left the flat. Both Mary and Molly exchanged a look before rolling their eyes and shaking their heads.

"And he thinks that Sherlock is the only drama queen."

Molly burst out laughing at Mary's statement. She quickly joined in, and to both their surprise, so did Amelia; delighting them both with her little giggle.

Mary lovingly stroked her baby's cheek as she smiled down at her, "Yes darling, your daddy is as much of a drama queen as Sherlock Holmes!"

Later that evening, after Amelia had fallen asleep, Molly and Mary were sitting on the sofa discussing what it was like to be married to their husbands.

"I've not known Sherlock for nearly as long as you and John have, so I can't exactly form an opinion about him except from what I have personally seen and from what John has told me. But I can honestly say this, Sherlock has changed. And that change has most definitely been brought about by you. You've made him more human."  
Molly sat for a moment, taking in Mary's words as she rubbed her hand over her belly.

"I didn't try to change him. I didn't ask him to change. But I cannot deny that he is different. I don't know what I did."  
Mary smiled at her, "It's called love. It does things to people. Whether you want it to, or not, it will change you. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst. In this case, for the better."

Molly returned the smile, but it quickly turned into a frown, "Sometimes I wonder if I've completely lost my mind. I had a crush on him for years, and for the most part he just blatantly ignored me; except for when he wanted something. I was like a puppy trailing after its master, desperate and hopeful for a treat. When I came to realize that I was actually in love with him, I also came to the realization that he would never love me back. I thought, when he asked me for my help in faking his death, that maybe there was hope. But then he left, gone for two whole years. I never heard from him, not once. So I forced myself to let him go. I had to move on. I found Tom, and I was happy for a time, I'm quite certain that I would have married him if –"

"Sherlock hadn't come back."

Molly nodded, wiping away the few tears that had fallen, "Seeing him again, after such a long time, it made all my feelings for him just flood back in. I couldn't deny them any longer. So I ended it with Tom. Accepting the fact that if I couldn't be with Sherlock, than I wouldn't be with anyone. That I would just turn into a crazy old cat lady."

She gave a little nod towards Toby who was asleep curled up in Sherlock's chair.

"I don't know how I missed it. Perhaps I was so wrapped up in my own feelings for him that I never once caught on to his feelings for me."

"Well, he's not exactly the poster child for expressing emotion."

Molly laughed slightly, "No. Definitely not. Although he has gotten much better with that. But honestly, if I hadn't called him that night, I don't know if anything would have ever happened between us."

Mary leaned back into the cushions, clearly trying not to smile, "Oh, trust me, he would have come around eventually."

Molly gave her a quizzical look, "What do you mean?"

"Sherlock used to come to our flat constantly, driving us both completely bonkers. He wouldn't shut up about you, and when John finally yelled at him and told him that he needed to let you know how he felt … well let me just say that the look on Sherlock's face was that of complete bewilderment. I don't think he was entirely aware of what he was doing. For being a man that can see what other's don't, he is completely blind when it comes to his own feelings. But trust me Molly, he would have eventually told you, even without your helpful little push."

Molly found herself smiling, "He probably would have strut into the morgue in his usual way, started rattling off deductions and amidst that blurt out that he would like to have coffee with me."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah. That's how I first asked him out. Black, two sugars. I don't think I'll ever forget that."

Mary shook her head, "Well, all I can say is thank God you two finally got together. I've never seen such a pair of mopes!"

"Mopes? I didn't mope!"

"Uhh … yes you did! I think for the most part people just thought of it as your being upset that your engagement ended. John and I of course knew the truth. It was wonderful dealing with two pouty babies. And no, Amelia doesn't pout."

Molly started to laugh, covering her face with her hands, "Oh God! I'm so sorry about that! But, hang on, than why were you both so surprised we got married?" She dropped her hands away from her face and looked at Mary.

"Well … we were hoping you two would get together. We just didn't exactly expect you both, Sherlock especially, to go that far that quickly. I guess we really shouldn't have been surprised though, when does Sherlock ever do anything in a remotely normal fashion?"

Molly laughed again, "No, of course not. But we had wasted so much time already we just felt that it was so stupid to waste anymore time."

"Was the baby planned?"

"Mmm… no. And I honestly never thought that Sherlock would want to become a father … but he seems really excited."

Mary started to giggle, "You two are going to be the strangest parents! 'My mummy cuts up dead people and my daddy solves murders!' Oh, teachers are going to love you!"

Molly rolled her eyes, "It's not like what your daughter will be saying is any better! 'My mummy used to be an assassin and my daddy was in the army and he now solves crimes with Sherlock Holmes!"

The two dissolved into laughter. When they at last ran out of breath they leaned back into the sofa, breathing heavily.

"We are most definitely some of the most un-normal people."

Mary sighed, "And I wouldn't want to have it any other way!"

The following afternoon Mary was busy feeding Amelia and Molly was sitting in Sherlock's chair reading over what she had written so far with her paper. Her phone lit up, the text tone going off. She grabbed it up, shocked to find that it was from Sherlock.

"How are you? Did you sleep well? You're remembering to eat, aren't you? –SH"

Molly rolled her eyes, laughing to herself as she typed out a reply.

"I'm doing fine. I didn't sleep anywhere near as well as I do when you are here and yes, I am remembering to eat. –M"

"I miss you. –SH"

She smiled.

"I miss you too. Come back as soon as you can. –M"

"I will. –SH"

Just as she was laying her phone back down she heard the doorbell ring. A few moments alter she heard Mrs. Hudson answer the door, then footsteps coming up the stairs. She stood up from the chair just as Mrs. Hudson opened the door.

"You've got a visitor dear."

Judging by the look on her face, Molly knew who exactly her visitor was.

"Mycroft! How lovely to see you! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

He stepped into the flat, umbrella in hand, looking about him.

"Hello Molly, I see that you've … it looks different."

"Mmm… yeah… I guess I did alter a few things."

"I am here to bring … ahh … here she is!"

Mrs. Holmes came walking up the stairs, "Honestly Mike! You should have had the decency to help me bring some of this up!" In her hands were two large bags.

"Isn't my driver Alfred, helping you?"

"Well yes, but you could have helped as well!"

Molly looked between the two of them.

"No Anthea?"

Mycroft silenced her with a look.

"Mrs. Holmes, I'm so happy to see you!" Molly walked forwards, only now taking notice of what Mrs. Holmes was holding. _Baby things. _

"Please dear, I've already asked you to call me Viola!" She gave Molly a kiss on the cheek, "I'm so sorry Siger couldn't come, his hip has started bothering him again!"

"What is all of this?" Molly asked as Alfred came up the stairs depositing several boxes.

"I wanted to bring you these things sooner, but it turned out to be a lot harder to find it all in the attic. These are the some of Sherlock's things from when he was a baby. Seeing as you are having a girl not all of it is appropriate, but there are some things that I am sure you can use."

"Oh Viola! This is wonderfully sweet of you! Thank you!"

They shared a hug.

Molly gave a sly look at Mycroft, "Did you plan this because you knew that Sherlock wouldn't be here?"

He simply tapped the tip of his umbrella on the floor. Mary came down the stairs, holding Amelia.

"Oh, hello Mycroft!"

A little while later Molly, Mary and Viola were sitting on the sofa. Viola was sitting in the middle, with Molly and Mary on either side of her. She held a large photo album in her lap.

"This is Sherlock when he was six, he had become positively obsessed with wanting to be a pirate! He was quite theatrical."

Mary and Molly giggled.

"Oh thank goodness Mike has already left, he would have my head if he knew this photo was still in existence!"

Mary and Molly erupted into laughter, Viola soon joining them. The photo was of a very young Mycroft holding Sherlock in his arms, both of them dressed as pirates. When the laughter died down, Viola grew quiet, deep in thought.

"I'm not entirely sure that this is in Mycroft's album, I'll have to check with Anthea."

"Oh, Mycroft has an album too?" Molly asked.

"Oh yes, I snuck it off to Anthea a few months ago when I took out Sherlock's. Mycroft doesn't know of course."

"So you know about him and Anthea than?"

"Of course I do! Mycroft may be the British Government but he cannot hide anything from me! He still thinks I haven't a clue!"

Molly hid her smile behind her hand.

"Oh Molly dear, where is your ring?"

She looked down at her bare hand, "I had to take it off, my fingers have gotten so swollen. But don't worry, I have it right here." She pulled a chain out from under her shirt, revealing the ring.

"I know that I said it before, but I am so very glad that Sherlock found you. I worried about him for so long; he's never been one to take care of himself very well." Viola looked at Mary, "John helped him in so many ways, but you Molly," She turned to her, "you've brought about such a change in him. You have made my son the man that he always should have been. Thank you."

Molly gave her a tender hug.

"And make sure that he takes care of you as well! You are not his slave!"

"Oh don't worry Viola, he takes very good care of me, and I know how to keep him in line!"

The three women giggled.


	7. Strange Love

on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87

:)

* * *

Chapter Seven – Strange Love

_This Love_

_This Love, is a Strange Love _

_ \- This Love, Sarah Brightman_

* * *

Several days had passed since Sherlock and John had left for Reading. Mary had offered herself up to Molly as her research assistant when she wasn't busy tending to Amelia. Molly gladly accepted her help, having been missing Sherlock's, albeit rather annoying at times, comments and suggestions. For the most part the paper was written in entirety, she just wanted to delve into further detail in several of her paragraphs.

While she was furiously scribbling down notes, her daughter gave a swift kick to her ribcage, just as the screen of her phone lit up and her text tone chirped. She let out a whoosh of air, her ribs aching slightly.

"Oh! It's Sherlock!"

She hadn't heard from him in two days. John, of course, had been dutifully texting Mary.

"Ohhh … he's sent me pictures of the murder victims!"

Mary made a face, then continued tucking in Amelia into her travel cot.

"Wow, the murderer certainly is creative. Those are some of the strangest incisions I have ever seen … what sort of weapon could he have used?"

Mary rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Like I said strangest parents ever!"

Molly heard her but chose to ignore the comment, instead sending a reply to Sherlock.

"The weapon must have been some sort of blunt instrument. I would say that the murderer has an incredible amount of strength; he would need it. Could the weapon be a letter opener? They aren't exactly sharp, and neither are they serrated. From what I can tell from the photos the lacerations look smooth, and yet too small for a normal blade. – M"

Sherlock's reply came quickly.

"Mrs. Holmes, you are brilliant. Remind me to show you how much I love you when I return. – SH"

She felt her cheeks grow warm. Sometimes an overly-affectionate and expressive Sherlock was too much for her. She loved it, most definitely, but it was still just all so strange. Suddenly she realized that she hadn't replied and quickly did so.

"I love you too. Now catch the murderer so you can come home to me! – M"

"Will do. – SH"

Molly giggled as she put down her phone. Mary sat up, Amelia having finally settled down, and looked at her.

"Most men would send a simple 'I love you' or "I miss you,' not photos of murder victims! I may be an ex-assassin but, UGH!"

Molly laughed again, "When has Sherlock ever been like most men?"

"Mmmm … never?"

"Exactly! Besides, he sent them to me because he appreciates my opinion and I have the tendency from time to time to spot things that he's overlooked."

"Really?"

"Mmmm."

"You two are perfect for each other."

Molly smiled, "Thanks. I think you're the first person who has ever told me that."

A little while later the pair of them, with Amelia, had decided to go for a walk to the nearby park. Mary told Molly that she needed both the fresh air and the exercise. The day was a bit chilly, even with the sun shining brightly. Amelia cooed waving her little hands as Mary settled her into the pram, tucking the blanket around her so that she would stay warm. Molly couldn't stop herself from smiling as she watched little Amelia practically snuggle herself into the blanket before letting out a wide yawn.

"A baby's yawn might be the sweetest and cutest thing ever."

Mary looked at Molly and smiled, "Oh just you wait, you will think that everything you see your daughter do is adorable! It can't be helped! You just fall in love with every little thing."

Molly took in a deep breath, loving the feel of the cool air on her face as they started to walk down the street towards the park. It felt good to be outside, walking about; it had been several days since she had done this. And it was always in the company of a coddling Sherlock.

They slowly strolled through the park, admiring its beauty. Both Mary and Molly began to discuss how much they were looking forward to when their two daughters would be able to play there together.

"I do love it here. London is such a beautiful city. No place has ever felt like home as much as this does."

Molly and Mary had parked themselves on a bench, Molly needed to rest her swollen feet.

"You didn't grow up in London than?" Mary asked.

Molly shook her head, brushing away a few wisps of hair as a breeze blew over them.

"No, I grew up in Sussex, lived there until I went to Uni. I would go back for visits during breaks, but then my dad got sick. So the house was sold and he got a flat in London while I continued Uni. I would split up my time there and at his flat. Until he passed, shortly before I graduated. He had wanted me to keep his flat, but I couldn't. It just held too many memories, too many sad memories. So I sold the flat, and with the money I bought the flat I had been living in until I moved into Baker Street with Sherlock." Molly paused, looking out over the expanse of the park, "I don't know really, I did love living in the country, growing up in it, but as soon as I came here to London, I just fell in love. It felt right, like I belonged here."

Mary brushed the tip of her finger lightly over Amelia's cheek. She was sleeping soundly, her little hands curled into fists, thrown up by her head.

"Do you think you and Sherlock will ever move out of Baker Street?"

Molly contemplated this question for a moment, "Oh God, I have no idea. The thought really hasn't ever entered my mind. I suppose it would have to be considered if we have more children … but at the moment I think we will be quite content at 221. Sherlock love's the place, and so do I. I think that that has been his true home."  
They both grew silent for several minutes. Molly leaning her head back, closing her eyes as she turned her face up towards the sun. Her daughter gave another swift kick to her ribs. Molly reached up to rub her hand over the sore spot.

"I don't know about you Molly, but suddenly I am positively famished!"

Molly opened her eyes and looked at Mary, "Mmmm … I am starting to feel a bit peckish."

"We can just grab a bite at Speedy's, you should probably rest some more. We've walked quite a bit."

"All right."

They both stood, Molly much more slowly than Mary, and began to make their way out of the park. Silence fell between them again. That was the nice thing about their friendship; they didn't always need words while they were in each other's company. Suddenly the text tone on Mary's phone chirped.

"It's from John; they think they've found the killer."

"Oh good, I'm glad to hear that! I've been really missing Sherlock."

Mary tucked her phone away after she sent a reply, "I've been missing John too. And I know Amelia has as well. It's fascinating to watch how her eyes light up when she sees him. And she does this adorable little thing with her hands; she grabs at the air as if she is trying to reach out for him! I love it! I think I might have a video of it on my mobile, I'll check when we get back to the flat."

After getting sandwiches at Speedy's they entered 221 and were in the process of making their way up the stairs when the door of Mrs. Hudson's flat opened.  
"Oh hello dears! Gone for a walk have you? It is such a lovely day! How is little Amelia?"

She had walked over to them and was now leaning over the pram, gently stroke Amelia's cheek. She had woken up and was staring up at Mrs. Hudson with wide, curious eyes.

"She really is an absolute dear! She will grow up to be a lovely girl! And I know that yours will too Molly." Mrs. Hudson gently laid her hand on her arm.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson."

"Is there anything you ladies need? Some tea perhaps?"

"Oh please don't trouble yourself Mrs. Hudson!"

"It is no trouble at all Molly, go upstairs and settle in and I will bring you both some tea."

Molly and Mary entered the flat. Mary went up to feed Amelia and hopefully settle her down for a proper nap. Molly had walked into the kitchen and was gathering up plates for their food. As she walked into the living room and settled into Sherlock's chair her text tone chirped.

"Have yet to catch the murderer, but I am positive I have discovered his lair. He knows we are after him. He tried to commit another murder but his fear made him clumsy. John was able to save the victim, but the killer escaped. You were right about the man's size; John called him Goliath, why? - SH"

Molly smiled slightly as she read his text, and began to type back, "The name is from a Bible story, David and Goliath. You must have deleted it. Goliath was a giant, and David defeated him with a slingshot and a rock. – M"

"Ahh. I won't delete it now. – SH"

She was starting to type a reply when he sent another text.

"I miss you. – SH"

She stared down at the screen, brushing her thumb over his message.

"I miss you too. – M"

Several moments passed before he sent another text.

"I miss your body. I miss your warmth. I miss the noises you make from the affect of my ministrations. – SH"

Molly felt her face flush crimson and a rush of heat surge through her lower body.

"Sherlock Holmes! Are you sexting me? – M"

Her cheeks grew a deeper shade of red as she read his reply.

"Yes. Isn't it obvious? Why aren't you sexting me back? – SH"

Molly rolled her eyes, muttering under breath, "The man could have had the decency to ask me if I was alone first!" She typed off a rapid reply.

"Mrs. Hudson is bringing up tea! – M"

"Damn the woman! – SH"

Molly rolled her eyes again.

"You have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, do you not?"

She shook her head, "As always, a rapid change in subject!"

"Yes. – M"

"Sorry that I'll miss it. Forgive me? – SH"

She could perfectly picture the sad puppy eyes he would be giving her, if he was there with her.

"It's quite all right. Mary will go with me. – M"

"I should be home the day after tomorrow. – SH"

"Good. I miss you terribly. – M"

"I miss you more. – SH"

"Hoo hoo!" Mrs. Hudson called out, entering the flat with a tray of tea things. Molly moved to stand up but she waved her hand at her.

"Don't bother yourself dear, rest your tired feet!"

Molly settled back down into the chair, laying her phone off to the side, as she watched Mrs. Hudson prepare the tea. Mary came down a few moments later, a baby monitor in her hand. The two of them tucked into their food, Mrs. Hudson dismissing their offer, saying she had already eaten. The three of them sat and chatted for a while, until Molly started yawning. It progressively grew worse and both Mary and Mrs. Hudson told her to go and lie down for a bit. Molly didn't argue and got up, making her way towards her and Sherlock's bedroom. Kicking off her shoes she slipped into the bed, grabbing Sherlock's pillow. She snuggled it to her chest, burying her nose into it so that she could breathe in his scent. Letting out a contented sigh she closed her eyes and drifted off into sleep.

The next day Mary and Molly were sitting in a room at the doctor's. Mary had left little Amelia in Mrs. Hudson's care. She had appeared to be rather excited by this, cooing over her as Amelia giggled and waved her hands about. This put Mary at ease.

This was just a routine checkup, mostly to make sure that all was still well with the baby and both Molly and the child weren't lacking in any nutrients. After the doctor came in and they chatted for a bit he checked her over and then had her lie back to do the ultrasound. As Molly leaned back and pulled up her shirt, exposing her belly, she came up with an idea.

"Doctor Martin, could I uhh … record my daughter's heartbeat with my phone? For my husband, he's away for work and rather disappointed that he couldn't be here."

"Oh absolutely, that's perfectly fine!"

Mary stood up, "I can hold your mobile for you if you want, so that it can be closer to the machine and really pick up the sound."

"Ok, thank you!" Molly handed Mary her phone.

The doctor squirted out the gel on her belly. She gasped slightly, the coolness of it always shocking her a bit. Her face lit up with a huge smile as the image of her daughter came up on the screen. Like always, tears began to fill her eyes. The sound of her heartbeat filled the room, strong and steady. Mary pressed record on the phone, making sure to get the image on the screen as well.

A little while later Molly and Mary were on there way back to Baker Street. Molly had wanted to send the recording to Sherlock straight away, but decided to wait until she knew he had caught the murderer.

"Molly …?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you like baking?"

Molly turned to look at Mary, "Yeah, I love to! Haven't in a while though, why?"

"I've been having an urge to bake something lately, but with my not being at home I've held it back …"

"You want to bake? Oh yes! Let's!"

The pair of them hurried off to the shops to buy what they needed. Upon returning to Baker Street, Mary carried up the shopping before getting Amelia from Mrs. Hudson. Molly went up, carrying the lightest bag and began to put the things away. They had decided not to bake anything until the next day so that they could take some time to decide on what they wanted to make, having bought an assortment of ingredients.

Molly's phone chirped. She pulled it out of her bag and saw that it was a text from Sherlock.

"The killer has been caught and arrested. He claimed that he chose to use a letter opener as his weapon because he wanted to be 'unique.' I'm sure John will come up with some asinine title for this case on his blog! - SH"

Molly giggled, "Glad to know that the murderer is no longer roaming free! Will you be coming home soon then? – M"

"Yes. Tomorrow afternoon at the latest. – SH"

"Good. I have a present for you. – M"

"A present? – SH"

She sent him the video. For a minute or two she received no reply.

"Thank you. – SH"

"You're welcome. XXX – M"


	8. Wherever you are, is my Home

**on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87**

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**Reviews make me smile!**

* * *

Chapter Eight – Wherever you are, is my Home

_Let me go home_

_I'm just too far_

_From where you are_

_I wanna come home_

_ \- Home, Michael Buble _

* * *

The entire building of 221 Baker Street smelled positively divine. Mary had revealed that she was an avid bread-baker, resulting in three perfectly round loaves that were cooling on the counter. Molly had perused her Pinterest boards, deciding on wanting to try a new recipe. For years she had tried to find a recipe for tea cakes; one that would bring her back to memories of her grandmother who used to make them when she was growing up. Every recipe that she had tried had yet to be the one. They were all quite good, delicious rather, but not anything like her grandmother's.

Mary had gone down stairs to Mrs. Hudson to check on Amelia, bringing one of her freshly baked loaves with her. Molly was looking over the recipe she had decided upon, gathering up the ingredients she would need. Her text tone chirped, breaking her concentration for a moment. Reaching out blindly for her mobile, she also grabbed up the measuring cups. Tearing her eyes away from the recipe she opened up the text and saw that it was from Sherlock.

"Just entered London. Should be home within the half hour if traffic is light. – SH"

"Glad to know, I am anxiously awaiting your return XXX – M"

Molly made her way downstairs to tell Mary the good news, noting that she had left her phone on the coffee table.

"About bloody time! I don't like having John away for so long. And Amelia misses her daddy as well, don't you poppet?"

"It must have been hard for you too Molly dear, you've only been married to Sherlock for several months! My husband and I were inseparable the first year of our marriage! We could hardly bear a few seconds apart! We just couldn't keep our hands off each other!"

Molly and Mary exchanged a look before Molly moved to stand up, rather frightened by what else Mrs. Hudson would reveal about her marriage.

"Right, I have my baking to return to!"

Mary kissed Amelia's cheek, "I'll come back up and help you!"

As the two made their way back into 221B Mary started to giggle.

"Do you think we'll lose our filters when we grow old?"

Molly shook her head, "Can't say that I ever had one. Have you ever heard my jokes?"

Mary snorted, grabbing up her phone. Molly went back into the kitchen. She worked quietly for a time, humming a bit of song as she mixed the ingredients. Just as she was about to stir her text tone chirped.

"What are you doing? – SH"

"Must be bored." She murmured as she typed back.

"I am baking. – M"

"Don't eat any of the batter if there is raw egg in it. – SH"

Molly narrowed her eyes at his text then let out an exasperated breath just as Mary walked into the kitchen.

"For being a genius my husband can be rather thick!"

She showed Mary his text, resulting in her rolling her eyes.

Shaking her head, Molly typed out a rapid reply.

"I'm not an idiot Sherlock! I do work in a hospital. – M"

Several moments passed before he sent a reply.

"I wasn't remarking on your intelligence, which I know is remarkable. I was simply warning you of the dangers of consuming raw egg, especially in your condition. – SH"

She giggled. She loved how he was afraid of pissing her off. She knew that she could be rather snappish. Far more so than before she was pregnant. In all honesty she rather liked it. It gave him a taste of his own medicine.

"You know that your mind is one of the things I most greatly admire about you. – SH"

"One of the things? – M"

"Yes. There are many. – SH"

She smiled.

"I'll be sure to show you what each and every one of those things are as soon as I get home. – SH"

Molly felt her face grow bright red. Thankfully Mary was entirely unaware, busying herself with her cooling loaves.

"I'll hold you to that. – M"

"What are you baking? – SH"

"You'll find out when you get home. – M"

"Tea cakes? – SH"

"What the hell?" She stared at her phone in amazement.

"All right, making deductions while standing directly in front of someone is one thing, but through the phone is another! How did you know? – M"

"It was just a lucky guess. – SH"

"Shut up, I'm going back to my baking. See you soon. X – M"

She laid down her phone, off to the side and proceeded to do just that. Thirty minutes later the cakes were in the oven. Molly and Mary were tidying up the kitchen, putting away the ingredients that hadn't been used and doing the washing up. Just as the last bowl was being put away they heard Mrs. Hudson's voice downstairs.

"They're back!" Mary was smiling like a little schoolgirl, her face all lit up. She hurried out of the kitchen, the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Molly stayed behind, knowing that she couldn't move quickly enough and also that she figured she would allow John and Mary some privacy.

The sound of Sherlock's baritone voice filled the flat. Would it ever not make her weak in the knees? He appeared suddenly in the doorway of the kitchen, still with his coat and scarf on. The look on his face was one that she could have never conjured up in her fantasies. And this wasn't a fantasy. This was real!

With two long strides he was standing directly before her. Within a matter of seconds his hands were cupping her face and his lips were on hers. She kissed him back, running her hands through his curls before her fingers coming to rest at the nape of his neck.

"I've missed you." He whispered against her mouth, "And our little girl." He stepped back slightly so that he could lean down and press a kiss to her belly. When he straightened he started to look her over, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. A little tired. Much better now that you're home."

He smiled before kissing her again. Intent on not letting her out of his sight he took a hold of her hand and walked out of the kitchen.

"John! Don't you need to go home and write up about the case?" He all but barked out.

John stepped away from Mary, giving Sherlock one of his death glares. Molly gave an apologetic glance to Mary. A few minutes later they had exited the flat, picking up Amelia from Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock had Molly in his arms again, kissing her deeply. When his hands started to wander, she gently pushed him away.

"Sherlock, not yet! I've got the cakes still in the oven."

He pulled her back to him, "Don't care. Want you too much."

Molly found it rather amusing how he sometimes lost his ability for his customary flow of speech when he was aroused.

"You will care when the flat fills up with smoke."

He humphed, but released her. She made her way into the kitchen. After taking off his coat and scarf and hanging them up, he followed her.

"Are they nearly done?"

"Mmm." She was taking the tray out of the oven, "They are done." She placed the tray on a rack to let it cool; gently easing the cakes off onto a plate.

"Sherlock don't!" She swatted his hand away as he reached out to grab one, "They are going to be extremely hot! All you'll end up doing is burning your tongue! You could always kiss me for a bit, to let them cool before you have one."

He seemed to rather like this idea, pulling her up against him. When they at last broke apart for air she smiled up at him.

"I think they may be cool enough now."

They each took up a cake, both taking a bite at the same time. Although Sherlock mostly ate his in one bite. Molly's eyes widened at the sight of him stuffing the cake into his mouth. As she chewed, the flavour of the cake decorating the inside of her mouth, her heart began to beat excitedly.

"This is it! This tastes exactly like the ones my grandmother would make!"

Sherlock grabbed up another one, "They taste just like what Mrs. Donahue used to make when I was growing up."

Molly froze, her heart now thudding in her chest, "Mrs. Who?" She squeaked out.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he looked at her, the cake halfway to his mouth, "Mrs. Donahue?"

Molly swallowed, "Sh-Sherlock. That's my grandmother."

His eyes grew wide. He nearly dropped the cake, "What? You told me your grandmother's name was Hooper!"

"My father's mother yes, but not my mum's mother! Ho-how could you know her?"

"She was a friend of my mum's. She would come for tea all the time. Mycroft hated her. I-I rather liked her."

Molly still look baffled, "The last time I saw her was when I was seven, the summer before my mum left my dad. We came to visit her." Molly clapped her hands over her mouth, before letting them drop away, "Oh my God, that's why the village where your parents live looked so familiar! I've been there before!"

Sherlock's eyes were unfocused, a sure sign that he had slipped into 'computing' mode. Molly let out an annoyed sigh. The man had horrible timing.

"I remember you."

Her eyes snapped back to his face, "What?"

"I remember you. I remember seeing you. You wanted to come and play but your mother wouldn't let you."

Molly felt her mouth drop open, "I don't remember that. Not at all."

"No. I suppose that you wouldn't. You've forced your brain to repress all memories of your mother because you are still angry with her for abandoning you."

"Isn't that kind of like what you call deleting information?"

He shrugged, "Yes, I suppose."

She shook her head, "What-what are the odds that we would see each other then, and years later meet again? If I hadn't made these, found this recipe, we might never have known. This couldn't just be coincidence, could it?"

Sherlock shook his head, "The universe is rarely so lazy."

She stared up at him for a moment before resting her cheek against his chest. He put his arms about her waist, holding her as close to him as he could. They stood there like this for several moments, swaying gently from side to side, both contemplating in their own ways how they seemed to have always been destined to be together. Suddenly Molly broke the silence.

"Sherlock."

He hummed in reply.

"You can take me to bed now."

"Ahh. Duly noted."

With that said, and one swoop of his arm, he carried her bridal style into their bedroom her giggling the entire way. As soon as her back touched the mattress she claimed his mouth with her own. Barely relinquishing it as they struggled to remove each other's clothing as quickly as possible. His mouth was hot against her skin as he at last broke apart their kiss, moving down her neck to her collarbone. They made love slowly, savoring each moment.

"Missed you. So much." He panted out to her, their bodies moving in perfect unison. Speech had been rendered impossible for her, thus in answer she pulled him closer, kissing him deeply.

Sometime later they lay curled up in the sheets, their legs a tangled mess, their bodies slick with sweat. Hearts beating out a rapid tattoo.

"If that's the welcome home I receive, perhaps I'll go away more often."

She gave his pectoral muscle a good nip with her teeth.

"Don't press your luck!"

He chuckled and pulled her up to him so that he could give her a kiss. She nipped his bottom lip for good measure.

"Since when have you become so sadistic?"

She blinked innocently at him, "What do you mean?"

He narrowed his eyes, "Hmmm … two can play at this game!"

She looked at him with mock-audacity then let out a gasp as he pushed her down on her back. Her gasps quickly turned into moans.


	9. Out of the Blue, and into the Black

**on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87**

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* * *

Chapter Nine – Out of the Blue, and Into the Black

_Out of the blue and into the black_

_You pay for this, but they give you that_

_And once you've gone, you can't come back_

_When you're out of the blue, and into the black _

_ \- Hey, Hey, My, My, Battleme_

* * *

Eight months pregnant. One whole month to go; four more weeks, Molly couldn't wait. Her back ached. Her feet ached. Her legs ached. She had to pee constantly. She couldn't sit for any long period of time. And Sherlock wouldn't stop coddling her!

_Do you need this? Do you need that? Can I make you a cup of tea? How about a blanket? _

Day and night. All day, every day. She thought that when she had been sick that he was bad, this was much, much worse. She could barely do a single thing herself, he had to do them for her. He had abandoned his lab, telling het that his experiments would wait. He refused all cases that would require him to leave the flat. Molly literally never got a break from him. A 24/7 Sherlock Holmes was quite an anomaly. Subsequently the day came that her reserve snapped; she texted John in desperation.

"Will you PLEASE take him out on a case? I NEED a break from him. Have Mary come with Amelia. – M"

"That bad? Sorry! Should have stepped in sooner! Will be over in a half an hour. – JW"

Sherlock was rather pissed that Molly had gone behind his back and had John force him to take a case. Lestrade was rather desperate for his help though, and was pleased to know that he was finally coming out of his little den in Baker Street. Sherlock wasn't about to voice his opinion though, for Molly had that same fire in her eyes that she had had the day he was brought to her lab to be tested for drugs. He had learned when it was wise to pick his battles with her. This was not one he would win.

Molly let out a massive sigh of relief after John and Sherlock left the flat. She had stretched herself out on the sofa, Toby curling at her feet, the pair of them taking up the entire thing. Mary laughed as she sat down in John's chair, holding Amelia in her arms.

"John was quite awful at times too. And especially with him being a doctor …" She trailed off, looking down at her daughter.

Molly smiled at the two of them, "Did he get better or worse after she was born?"

"Depends on how you look at it, really. He is a very devoted father. And he is quite willing to do whatever he can. I'm sure that Sherlock will be an excellent father. He may get a little textbook at times though." Mary eyed warily the pile of parenthood books that sat beside the coffee table.

"Those are actually mine. I'm sure what Sherlock has read is far more in the scientific spectrum."

Mary rolled her eyes, "Is he going to conduct experiments on her too?"

Molly laughed, "No. I was very firm about that. I think he's very excited though because he will be able to watch a child directly from birth and see their growth and progression. And also full take part in their upbringing. I have a feeling that we will have a very intelligent daughter."

"Oh, I don't doubt it! With both of you as her parents … she is bound to be blessed with brains!"

Later that afternoon, as the evening was starting to set in, Molly was feeling much better. She had had a good long chat with Mary and was for once able to eat a meal without having to listen to comments and suggestions every five seconds.

Sherlock had texted her that the case was solved and that he and John were on their way back. Molly cringed slightly at the thought that she had snapped at him shortly before he left. It was stupid to let her temper get the best of her, he didn't deserve it. She knew that all of this was just as strange and frightening and difficult for him, as it was for her.

Resolving to make amends she set some food aside for him. He had lately gotten better with his eating habits. He also slept a lot more, curled up around her. Although over the passed few months he had, what seemed to her, rather frightening nightmares. She never mentioned them to him. She only put her arms around him and held him close when he would start murmuring in his sleep and thrashing about. Her touch always did the trick, calming him down.

Molly was helping Mary gather up the few things of Amelia's when they heard the front door open. Molly straightened, rubbing her lower back with her hand as the sound of voices reached her ears.

"Ridiculous John! The case was barely even a seven! I don't know how Lestrade couldn't figure that one out on his own! It was clearly the security guard!"

Molly rolled her eyes, knowing that John was probably doing the same as he followed Sherlock up the stairs. They both entered the flat; John immediately walked over to Mary and gave her a kiss hello before placing a gentle kiss on Amelia's forehead. Sherlock approached Molly apprehensively as he took off his coat and scarf. She smiled up at him warmly, watching as he instantly relaxed.

"Hi."

"Hello."

She stood on her tip toes, wobbling slightly. He caught her by the elbows as she gave him a gentle kiss, her belly rubbing up against him.

"Feeling better?"

She nodded and he let out a breath of relief.  
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier, it wasn't necessary."  
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers, his nose brushing against her own ever so slightly, "It's all right. You had every reason to say what you did. I'm the one who should be apologizing. Just say something next time … when I'm starting to … do too much … rein me in."

She gave a soft laugh, "Okay. I'll try to remember to … rein you in."

She giggled again before pulling him down to kiss him. Neither one of them were aware that John and Mary had quietly snuck out of the flat with little Amelia.

"Are you hungry?"

"Mmm … famished!"

"I left out some food for you."

With his arm about her waist, they walked into the kitchen. She put the plate of food on the table and he sat down, pulling her onto his lap.

"Sherlock! I'm too heavy!"

"Nonsense! You aren't whatsoever."

Resigning to the fact that he wasn't going to let her go she focused her attention on running her fingers through his silky curls and pressing kisses along his temple.

"Molly … stop distracting me, I'm trying to eat."

Ignoring his reprimand she put her arms around his neck and proceeded to kiss along his jaw line. She moved from his chin to the base of his ear, where she took his earlobe and gave it a gentle nibble. She could hear his breathing start to quicken.

"You're incorrigible." He muttered under his breath, before turning so that he could capture her mouth with his own. His lips tasted like Chicken Vindaloo.

The kiss deepened as he slipped his hands underneath her shirt, gently massaging the skin on her back. She moaned softly into his mouth, moving her hands down from his neck, brushing them over his chest, his ribcage and stomach. She froze when she felt him flinch, breaking apart their kiss. She looked down at her hand and saw blood on her fingers.

"Sherlock! You're injured!"

She slipped herself off of his lap, making him turn in the chair so that he was fully facing her. The dark colour of his shirt hid the source of blood from view. He started to unbutton the shirt, Molly helping him. Once unbuttoned completely she brushed the sides of the shirt away, revealing his chest to her, and the source of the blood. There was a three inch cut directly above his abdomen on the right side.

She straightened herself, "Stay here." She commanded him.

He did as she asked as she walked into the bathroom and retrieved her First Aid kit. When she returned to the kitchen she kneeled down in front of him, knowing that she would need help to stand when she was finished. She cleaned the cut with antiseptic, his stomach muscles twitching slightly.

"You're lucky this isn't deep and that you don't need stitches. I'm not accustomed to working on the living."  
Sherlock smirked at her comment.

"Why didn't you tell John about this? He could have taken care of it!"

"Uhh … I sort of forgot about it."

Molly shook her head as she put a plaster on the cut before placing a gentle kiss on it. He took her hands in his and helped her to her feet. He then proceeded to remove his shirt, dropping it to the floor before pulling her back down onto his lap.

"Thank you, Nurse Molly."

She hummed into his mouth as he kissed her, then laid her head on his bare chest as he finished the rest of the food on the plate. When he was done he leaned back into the chair, his arm about her waist tightening slightly. Reaching up with her hand she stroked her fingers over his cheekbone as she peered up at him.

"You look exhausted Sherlock, have you not been sleeping?"

"Mmm … not as well as I would like to be."

She continued to run her fingers over his cheekbone.

"I used to be able to sleep for eight hours straight, sometimes longer, when I wasn't on a case. Now I'm lucky if I get four or five."

"Hmmm … that's not good."

They both grew quiet for a bit.

"Want to watch crap telly for a little bit, let your food settle, then maybe I can see if I can do something to help you sleep?"

He smiled down at her, "Sounds like an excellent plan."

They curled up together on the couch, his hand coming to rest on her belly, his fingers splayed out. He could feel his daughter moving, pressing her feet against the walls of the womb. Molly dozed off several times, Sherlock did not. Around an hour later he turned the telly off.

"Hey! I was actually watching that!" Molly exclaimed.

Sherlock sat up, "No you weren't. Your eyes were completely unfocused, you were off somewhere inside your head."

Molly sat up as well, with Sherlock's help, brushing her hair away from her face, "You sound like me when I talk about how you look when you are computing something.

He humphed, standing up. She followed him, letting out a loud yawn as they moved towards the bedroom. She eyes the muscles of his back, wondering if he would be appalled by her suggestion of him always going shirtless while in the flat. Suppressing a giggle she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Entering the bedroom she changed into her pyjamas, one of Sherlock's old t-shirts and just her knickers, before stretching herself out on the bed. He came back in from the bathroom, scratching the back of his head as he yawned. She was pleased to see that he was only wearing his pyjama bottoms. He got into the bed, switching off the light before pulling the sheet and blanket up over them.

"What was that you were suggesting earlier? Something about helping me to sleep?" He questioned as he moved closer to her.

She chuckled as he pressed himself against her, "Ahh yes … I do recall saying that!" She tugged him down to her, pressing her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

An hour or so later they were both fast asleep. Molly was abruptly forced awake when Sherlock began to suddenly jerk about. _Another nightmare._ His body would often twitch his arms moving, hands gripping at the sheets, his head rolling from side to side. But it was the expression on his face that always tugged at her heartstrings, _pain._ But tonight was different, tonight he looked afraid.

"Please, not Molly, please."

She froze. He had always muttered and mumbled while he was having a bad dream; more often than not the words that she could make out were spoken in a different language. She had never heard him speak her name before. Were his nightmares about her?

"Please, no."

He was breathing heavily, clearly distraught.

"Please. Don't hurt her!"

She had never woken him up, instead only holding him close to her. But tonight she felt was different. She had yet to ever see him like this, so raw, so exposed, so afraid. She turned on the light before placing her hand on his chest, massaging his skin. He visibly relaxed, ever so slightly.

"Please, leave her alone!"

His forehead was drenched with sweat, his curls plastered to his skin.

"Sherlock …" Molly spoke his name softly, gently, "Sherlock wake up, you're having a nightmare. You need to wake up!"

With one hand still on his chest she brought up the other to brush his hair away from his face.

"Wake up Sherlock!"

With a loud inhalation of breath his eyes flew open. He grabbed at her, clasping her wrist tightly, for a brief moment he didn't know where he was. She could see the panic in his eyes.

"Sherlock! It's all right! You're safe. I'm here. It's all right."

He let go of her wrist, his eyes locking on hers. He was still breathing heavily. She gave him a small smile. Without saying a word he rolled onto his side, burying his face in between her breasts; breathing in the scent of her, reveling in her warmth.

She rested her cheek on the top of his head, carding her fingers through his curls. He held on to her tightly, almost as if he thought she would suddenly disappear.

"I'm not going anywhere Sherlock."

He lifted his head then, and looked at her.

"I know."

She cupped the side of his face in her hand, he leaning into it.

"This is why you haven't been sleeping well, isn't it? You've been having nightmares…"

He closed his eyes, before nodding in reply.

"What are they about? Tell me."

He opened his eyes and looked down at her.

"They used to always be about the same thing; bits and fragments of when I was away destroying Moriarty's web. But now, recently, they've started to change. Now they are always about the same thing. The dream never changes."

He looked away for a moment, breaking eye contact, before returning his gaze to her.

"I always dream about you. Moriarty kidnaps you, and he's torturing you. I can't get him to sop. I can't save you. I don't know how. I don't know what he wants. I don't know how to save you. I don't save you."

He closed his eyes again, bowing his head slightly.

"It's just a dream Sherlock, it isn't real. Moriarty is dead. He can't come back. He can't hurt me. And you did save me."

His eyes flew open, "How?"

She smiled, "That night, at the pub, that's when you saved me."

He humphed. She suppressed the smile that wanted to grow bigger, glad to see that he was returning to his usual self.

"Hardly a heroic gesture."

"I thought you didn't consider yourself a hero?"

He shook his head, "I don't."

She raised an eyebrow, "Well, either heroic or not, it was a gesture that meant a lot to me. And look at where it got us."

He smirked for a moment, but it quickly turned into a frown.

"They're just dreams Sherlock. Nothing more. They aren't real."

He nodded, "I know. It's just a common occurrence during the REM cycle. I just wish that I could control them, put a stop to them. That is one thing I have never been able to do; control my dreams."

She gave him a gentle tug, "C'mere and I'll give you something good to dream about."

His smirk returned. He leaned forward, kissing her as he molded his body into hers. From that night on he was able to sleep soundly once more.


	10. A Solemn Vow

on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87

:)

Reviews make me smile! :D

* * *

Chapter Ten – A Solemn Vow

_With this ring, I thee wed. _

.

.

.

The countdown had officially begun. Molly was in her last trimester and she was ready for it to all be over. Never had she been more uncomfortable in her entire life. She also had never felt so huge! She had always been called petite, but now she felt anything but! And to top it all off, Sherlock was completely on edge.

For the passed week he had hardly spoken a word; which for Sherlock wasn't all that surprising. The one worrying factor was that during her entire pregnancy, up until now, he had been fully supportive. Which is why the fact of him now shutting down almost completely was slightly worrying.

When Molly had approached John for suggestions of what to do he had told her that she should just talk to Sherlock. Draw him out; get him to tell her what was bothering him. Molly had an idea of what could be the source of this new worrying habit, (all right not exactly new), but a habit that hadn't reared its annoying head in quite sometime. The thing was, Molly wasn't so sure if she wanted to broach the subject. Fearing that if she did, the dam which she had so perfectly built may come crashing down. But it had finally come to the point; it was now or never.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, eyes closed and fingers steepled under his chin, as she approached him.

"You might as well open your eyes and look at me. I know you're not in your Mind Palace. You haven't gone in there in days."

His eyes snapped open, focusing directly on her face, "How can you possibly know that?"

She smirked, "You have a Mind Palace face."

He blinked, "A Mind Palace face?"

"Yeah. You make a certain expression when you're in your Mind Palace."

He grimaced slightly.

"Mmm … and that's your 'stop talking rubbish, molly!' face."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

She threw her hands up, "I'm just kidding! But yes, the Mind Palace face is real." She stepped closer to him, "Can we talk?"

He looked up, studying her for a moment, "You're scared."

She nodded, glad that she didn't have to speak the words out loud. He reached out for her, helping her to ease down into his lap. She curled into him as best as she could. He laid his hand protectively over her belly. She balled her hands into fists, holding tightly onto his dressing gown.

"You are too, aren't you?"

Several beats passed before he replied.

"Yes. I am."

She rubbed her forehead against his chest, "Why?"

He breathed in deeply, slowly letting it out before answering, "Because I am worried that I will be a horrible father."

Molly raised her head, his eyes locking on hers.

"Why do you think that? You're a perfectly adequate husband! Perhaps not to an outsider, but to me you are. You're going to be a wonderful father."

He looked down for a moment, "You think that you are going to be a terrible mother because you grew up the majority of your life without one."

Molly nodded, "I am. I'm terrified that I won't know what to do. I've had so little womanly influence in my life. My dad didn't have any sisters, and his mother passed away when I was ten."

Sherlock tightened his hold on her, "You're going to be a wonderful mother Molly, just look at how you are with Amelia!"

She buried her face back into his chest, "I know. I kind of think that probably all women get like this as the time of the birth grows near." She lifted up her head and looked him squarely in the eye, "Are you ready for this Sherlock? Do you truly know what we are about to do?"

He didn't say anything, just blinked rapidly, so Molly continued.

"We are about to become parents. A tiny little life is about to enter into this world; a tiny little life that will be solely dependent on us, for everything. I believe in you Sherlock, I know that you can do this. Do you know that you can?"

She had brought her hand up to his face, her fingertips resting on the apple of his cheek. He moved his hand to cover her small one.

"Yes. I know that I can. I know that I can because you will be right here with me. We can do this, together. I can't promise that I won't frustrate you and I probably will be more of a nuisance than a help at times, but I will try. I want to try. She's my daughter as much as yours. We both took a part in creating her, so we should both take a part in raising her."

Molly closed her eyes and leaned into him, "I love you."

He gently pressed his mouth to hers, "Mmm … I love you too."

* * *

A few days later a large package arrived at 221B Baker Street. The outside of the box gave no indication of what the contents were inside.

"Who is it from?" Molly had asked.

Sherlock had eyed the box warily as two large, muscular men carried it up the stairs and deposited it in the living room. They had handed him an envelope before they departed.

"Mycroft." He spat out, handing the note to her. She took it from him and read it out loud.

"For the new Holmes addition."

Sherlock proceeded to open the box, revealing that it was a crib.

"Anthea must have put him up to it. He would not have sent it fully assembled if it had been up to him." Sherlock sneered.

Molly rolled her eyes, "Whether Anthea played a part in it or no, this is a very kind gesture of him. It's beautiful. I do admire your brother's taste."

She was rubbing her hand along the side of it. The wood was dark, covered in intricate carvings of cherubs and flowers. She had never quite seen anything like it. Sherlock was still standing still off to the side from it, eyeing it suspiciously. His eyes widened suddenly as a realization hit him.

"This isn't new."

Molly turned and looked at him, "What?"

"The crib. It isn't new. It's mine. The crib was mine."

She turned back to it, looking at it in a new light, "Really?"

"He must have gotten it from our mother. I had no idea she kept it."

"The note didn't say her name on it though. It was just from Mycroft. You're mother has given us so much already, perhaps Mycroft wanted it to just be from him?"

Sherlock had the same look on his face that he did when he was first forced to wear the abhorred deerstalker hat. Molly walked over and wrapped her arms around him.

"Just accept it Sherlock, your brother loves you. And I know that you love him. You both just have a very strange way of showing it!"

He humphed, but relaxed in her arms.

"Do you think they'll be enough space in our room for the crib? We can move it upstairs when she is a bit older, but for now it would be too much of a hassle to be constantly going up and down."

He rested his hand on her hip, "You do not need to be climbing any stairs after giving birth. There should be plenty of space. And if there isn't, well I'll make some. Don't think I can move this on my own though. I'll just call John and have him help me."

Molly shook her head, knowing that to get Sherlock to do anything on his own was nigh near impossible.

John came by a little while later, with Mary and Amelia. Mary was helping Molly organize the baby things that Mrs. Holmes, Lestrade, Mike Stamford and of course the Watson's and Mrs. Hudson had given them. For the most part everything was already organized. Sherlock had taken it upon himself to do so, storing everything in the order that they would be needed. But Mary and Molly wanted something to go and it gave Molly a little thrill to handle the things that her own daughter would soon be wearing and using.

"How have you been feeling?" Mary asked as she unfolded an already folded blanket.

"Quite all right. My lower back has been bothering me quite a bit, but Sherlock has become rather adept at giving me massages."

John and Sherlock returned from the bedroom, John was panting slightly.

"That blood crib is solid wood! Can't believe how heavy that thing was!" John huffed.

Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and drawled out, "I told you if you just put your back into it you wouldn't have any trouble."

"Sherlock! Don't tell me you had John move the crib all on his own?" Molly glared at him.

He hesitated for a moment, "I helped. A bit."

Judging by the look on John's face this was not entirely true. He shoved his hands into his pockets, Sherlock carefully avoiding his gaze. After having tea, John and Mary rose to leave. As John was pulling on his coat he pulled out from his pocket a small black box and held it out to Sherlock.

"Here's what you asked me to pick up for you."

Sherlock grabbed it up quickly, casting a sly glance towards Molly, "Oh uhm, thank you." He tucked the box away.

John narrowed his eyes, not accustomed to receiving any form of thanks from him, "Riighht. See you both later. Don't hesitate to call me, Molly if you are feeling any abnormal discomfort."

As soon as John, Mary and Amelia had left the flat Sherlock had hurried off into the kitchen. Molly stood there for a few moments, pondering. She had caught sight of the exchange of the small black box. What was the man up to now? She followed him into the kitchen where he was looking for something; or at least trying to make it look like he was doing that. Her quick eyes caught onto a flash of silver.

"Sherlock."

He paused, his back to her, then continued to move about.

"Sherlock, what's that on your hand?"

He stopped again, holding up his left hand, "What? I don't see anything?"

She stepped closer to him, "You're other hand."

He had shoved it into the pocket of his dressing gown. She pulled his hand out, holding it up in front of her face.

"Are you … are you wearing a ring? A wedding ring?"

His eyes met hers, "Ye-es?"

"You bought a ring? You want to wear a ring? Why?"

He had turned so that he was fully facing her, her hand still holding onto his.

"Isn't that what married people are supposed to do? I'm simply following custom."

"Fibbing."

He swallowed, "I've received some rather flirtatious emails as of late. Normally I ignore and delete them but they got me thinking. Thinking that perhaps I should make it more public that I am a taken man. I don't exactly care what others think, but I thought that my wearing a ring would be best."

Molly quickly blinked back tears, "Just because you wear a wedding ring won't keep women from flirting with you!"

He let out an exasperated sigh, "I know. But it still seemed like the best thing to do."

"Thank you." She pressed her lips to his ring adorned finger.

"I don't want anyone to think that they can take me away from you. There is no one that could possibly ever appeal to me more than you."

"Sherlock…"

"Yes?"

"Stop talking and kiss me."


	11. Til There Was You

**So sorry for how this chapter begins, the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone it forced me to write it like this! I swear it gets better though! It starts with angst, but ends with fluff! **

* * *

Chapter Eleven – Till There Was You

_There was love all around _

_But I never heard it singing_

_No, I never heard it at all_

_Till there was you!_

_ \- Till There was You, The Beatles _

.

.

.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. There shouldn't be so much blood. There shouldn't be so much pain.

Molly was crying out. Every nerve ending in her body was filled with agony. Sherlock was crouched down beside her, desperately trying to bring her some form of comfort. She had her hand locked on his in a vice-like grip. Her knuckles were white, his palm and fingers were growing numb. Her forehead was drenched with sweat, her face deathly pale.

"Molly, stay with me, listen to the sound of my voice. Focus on my voice Molly! Stay with me! Stay with me!"

He was begging her. Sherlock Holmes never begged. But he was begging now. He didn't know if she could hear him, but if she could he wanted to make sure that she knew that she wasn't alone. He was here, with her. She would not have to go through this alone.

The ambulance arrived. The journey to the hospital was a blur. Molly still hadn't let go of Sherlock's hand. She still hadn't stopped crying out. Her throat had to be screamed raw by now. There was still so much blood.

The nurses had to pry her fingers from his hand, even though Sherlock didn't want them to. John had to step in and be the voice of reason. Sherlock had to let Molly go, he had to let them take her away for the emergency c-section. Sherlock could barely see straight. His usual logical, puzzle-solving brain was no longer functioning properly. John wrapped his arms around him, leading him away as Molly was rushed through a pair of double doors.

For an hour and a half straight Sherlock sat huddled in a chair in the waiting room, repeating only one word over and over again.

"Molly."

He was oblivious to all that was going on around him. He never noticed when Mycroft arrived with their parents, or Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade. John tried to get him to drink a cup of coffee, but he only continued to stare blindly ahead. Mary put her hand on her husband's arm.

"Just let him be."

Another half hour passed before the doctor came to the waiting room to tell them that the surgery had been a success; that both mother and child were doing well. And that the father could go and see them now. Sherlock made no response.

John knelt down in front of him, taking his face in his hands, "Sherlock! Look at me! Molly is all right! She and the baby, _your daughter_, are all right! You can go and see them now."

Sherlock's eyes came back into focus as he took in a great, deep breath. John stayed kneeling; wanting to make sure that his best friend had fully understood what he had told him.

"Molly. She's ok?"

"Yes Sherlock, Molly is ok.

He took in another deep breath, "I can go and see her now?"

"Yes."

John let go of him and stood as Sherlock slowly rose from the chair. A nurse stepped forward.

"I'll take you to her."

He followed her down the hall, the noises slowly dying sway. The nurse opened the door to one of the rooms and beckoned him in.

"She may be resting," The nurse spoke softly, "I'll bring your daughter in a few minutes." She left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Sherlock stood still. He had seen thousands of crime scenes, many of them murders. Hundreds of corpses, blood splatters, bullet and knife wounds. But nothing had ever brought him to a complete stand still like the sight of his wife lying in a hospital bed did. She looked so small, so fragile. Her eyes were closed, but he could see that she was breathing. The beep of the heart monitor was another sign of assurance. When she started to stir, he at last moved forward.

"Shheerrrrlloooccccckk." Her voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. She peered at him through heavy eyelids.

Upon reaching the bed he collapsed to his knees, taking her small hand in his and bowing his forehead to the mattress of the hospital bed. He was crying. Sherlock Holmes never cried. But he was crying now.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

He babbled this into the sheets. She moved her one free hand and laid it down on the back of his head.

"What are you sorry for?"

He raised his head slightly so that their eyes could meet.

"I don't know."

Molly ran her hand over his face. She had never seen him look like this. So undone, so nearly broken.

"Sherlock, neither one of us did anything wrong. It's not your fault, and it isn't mine. Sometimes these things just happen."

He let out a ragged sigh, "I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you. Now I know why you never came to visit me after I got shot. I'm so sorry for what I've put you through."

He stood up then, placing a desperate yet gentle kiss upon her lips. She clasped onto the back of his head as tightly as she could, her own tears mingling with his.

"Where is our daughter?"

He smoothed her hair back from her face before answering, "The nurse is bringing her."

"She was born without a heartbeat."

Sherlock's eyes widened, "What?"

"Her heart had stopped. The stress upon my body, and hers was too much. But they got it to start again. She's ok now. She's fine. Perfectly healthy."

He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead into hers.

"We are all ok now." She spoke to him soothingly.

They stayed like this for several minutes, basking in the quiet and the nearness of each other, taking in all that had happened. Sherlock was filing it in his Mind Place, locking it away, slamming the door shut. That was a room he need not visit often."

The nurse returned with a little bundle. Sherlock watched in complete and utter awe as the nurse laid the baby into his awaiting arms. This was his child. He and Molly had created this beautiful little girl.

Molly's eyes filled with tears once more as she watched father and daughter. He was swaying ever so gently. She knew for certain that he was just as in love with their daughter as she was. He walked over to the bed, carefully sitting down beside her.

"She's incredible Molly. Our little girl. Our beautiful little girl."

Molly leaned her head against his arm, "She is, isn't she? Our little Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth." He stroked her cheek with his fingertip, "Hello Elizabeth."

A week later both Molly and Elizabeth were released from the hospital. Mycroft had sent one of his cars. There would be no cabs for the Holmes offspring's first ride home.

Sherlock had Molly wait in the car while he carried up Elizabeth who was sleeping. Leaving her with Mrs. Hudson's watchful eye, Sherlock returned to the car and helped Molly slowly up the stairs. She had regained most of her strength, but her stitches were still extremely sensitive. Any excess of movement was rather unpleasant.

He gently removed her coat and scarf then helped her ease down onto the sofa. She let out a satisfied sigh, glad to be home. After taking off his own coat and scarf he took Elizabeth from Mrs. Hudson. After a whispered thanks to her she made her way back downstairs, promising to bring them tea in a short while.  
Sherlock settled himself down beside Molly. She let out another satisfied sigh leaning in to him, her eyes gazing lovingly at their daughter.

"Welcome home Elizabeth."

* * *

It was quite an adjustment for the pair of them. But an adjustment that they welcomed with open arms. For the first few weeks Sherlock had Molly rest as much as possible. She wanted to argue but knew that it was futile. For hours on end though, they would lie together on the bed, one of them holding their daughter.

Elizabeth wasn't a fussy baby, more often than not she was perfectly content to lie in her mother or father's arms. She would stare wide-eyed, drinking in her surroundings. She loved the sound of Sherlock's voice. He often found himself reciting chemical analogies to her. When Molly held her, as she nursed, she would sing her lullabies; the ones her own mother used to sing. Elizabeth would always drift off to sleep when Molly did this.

Sherlock had just laid Elizabeth down in her crib. As he returned to bed he curled himself up against Molly, careful not to touch her tender stomach. They kissed quietly for a time. His body ached for hers but he knew that it would be quite awhile before they could make love again. For now they would have to be satisfied with passionate kisses.

He had his face buried in her neck, his arms draped across her torso when Molly broke the silence.

"I didn't know it would feel like this."

"Hmmm?"

Sherlock shifted upwards so that his head was resting on the pillow beside hers.

"I didn't know that it would feel like this. I didn't know that I could feel so much love for such a tiny, sweet little person."

Sherlock smiled, nuzzling her face with his nose, "I didn't either. John had somewhat hinted at it, but I didn't think much of it. The fact though, that I almost lost her, and you, makes me love you both all the more."

Molly turned her head, kissing him fully on the mouth, I love you too, Sherlock Holmes."

He hummed as he kissed her back, "Oh! I have something for you!" He quickly, yet quietly, got off the bed then proceeded to rummage through his wardrobe. "Aha!" He returned to the bed holding what looked like a large book. He set it off to the side before helping her move up into a seated position. He then held it out to her, "Happy anniversary."

She looked at him with wide eyes, "Is it really? Already?"

He nodded his head from side to side, "Give or take a few weeks, but yes."

She took the offered book, which was in fact a large leather-bound journal. In the very center of the cover was carved the initials _E M H_.

"And you told me you would be rubbish at remembering these things." He leaned forward and kissed her, "It seems that when it comes to you, nothing gets deleted."

She kissed him back, "I didn't get you anything."

He pressed a very gentle kiss to her lips, "Our daughter is gift enough."

Molly would have kissed him again but he urged her to open the book. Leaning back into the pillows she opened it up to the first page.

"To the best of my ability, a complete and full study of the growth and birth of Elizabeth Marie Holmes, by her father William Sherlock Scott Holmes." Molly read out loud.

She turned the page then proceeded to read. He had written down everything from the moment he had deduced her pregnancy. He noted the pattern of her weight gain, her morning sickness, her cravings, every little thing.

"Sherlock … this is … this is beautiful." She turned and looked at him, her eyes overflowing with tears, "I love it, thank you." She kissed him, wishing that she could show him with her entire body how much she appreciated this gift.

He cradled the side of her face in his hand, "I'm glad you like it."

"I _love_ it."

She went back to reading, flipping through the pages here and there. She would read it in full, most definitely, but not now she was more curious to see how in depth he had gone.

"Oh. You really did write about everything didn't you? Even down to my mood swings. Ohhh … I forgot I said that to you. That was rather harsh." She grimaced slightly.

"I guess we both are capable of saying horrible things."

"Mmmm … oh my! You even wrote about how our having sex changed? Gracious Sherlock! You should write romance novels on the side."

The look on his face was that of pure disgust, "I simply wrote what took place, no embellishment."

She kissed him, "With you no embellishment is required." She could have sworn his cheeks turned faintly pink, "Perhaps though you could make an edited version to give to our daughter when she is a bit older? She doesn't exactly need to know that we had sex, while I was pregnant with her, on nearly every surface in the flat."

He hummed in agreement before settling down into the pillow, "Perhaps not."

Molly went back to reading, the minutes passing by in silence. Sherlock was running his fingers up and down her arm, his eyes closed. Molly was certain she had never seen him so relaxed.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"When did you do all of this? It must have taken you ages, with you hand-writing it and all! I never once saw you with this journal."

"No. You wouldn't have because I always wrote in it while you were asleep."

She stopped reading and stared ahead, "But I always wake up when you leave the bed. I would have known if you weren't here." She looked at him and his eyes shifted away from hers.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes! Did you drug me?" She hissed.

His gaze returned to hers, "I'm a graduate chemist, remember? You were perfectly safe, as was the baby. I wouldn't have done it otherwise."

"Twat!" She muttered underneath her breath.

He smiled and curled himself into her, "There's empty space in the journal, for me to continue to record her growth and progress." He started to press kisses onto Molly's shoulder, "I'm looking forward to watching her grow."

Molly closed the journal and placed it on the nightstand before slowly laying herself down on her back. He laid his arm across her again as she turned her head to face him.

"I'm looking forward to that as well. She's already changed so much since we brought her home from hospital. It's going to be quite an adventure."

Sherlock moved forward, pressing his lips to hers, "It's going to be an exciting adventure. An adventure that we will take together."

Molly closed her eyes, leaning in to him, "Yes. Together."

THE END

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*sniffles* Ahhh me, we have reached the end! :( I really enjoyed writing this and greatly apprecciate everyone's kind comments! :)

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As always, reviews make me smile! :D

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